


Pretend Makes Perfect

by BlueSeeker



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Body Image, Class Issues, Companions Questline, Deception, Dragonborn - Freeform, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Friendship, Female Protagonist, Gen, M/M, Manipulation, Multi, POV First Person, Running Away, Secrets, Skyrim Main Quest, Slow Build, Sociopathic Dragonborn, Starting Over, Tsunderes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 43
Words: 103,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5226956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSeeker/pseuds/BlueSeeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The daughter of a prostitute with a skooma habit, Sira Caronte knew nothing but humiliation, hunger, and precariousness in her native Anvil. She has grown into a proud survivor - more than willing to bend the rules to secure some gold.  </p><p>A combination of poor decisions and vanity led Sira to try her luck in Skyrim, hoping to turn her lie and "trade" her way into riches. However, Alduin the World Eater stands between her and the manor with servants she feels she deserves. Maybe it's time for Sira to reinvent herself again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro: A death you don't deserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While plotting a rushed escape from a petty scam, Sira found herself entering Skyrim in a far less glamorous fashion than originally planned. A life of poverty can still be escaped through a violent death.

# Act I: A Stranger in a Mask

 

_"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages."_

_"God has given you one face, and you make yourself another. "_  
\---- William Shakespeare

* * *

 

_From her grim Anvil days, Sira could always remember three things: the sharp pangs of envy, the dull pain of tired muscles, and the sweet delight at watching her own reflection when wearing her princess tiara. This tiara was a copper and sapphire circlet that simply appeared one day, behind a crate of sweet rolls she was meant to take to The Count’s Arms, that elegant establishment where only the prettiest wenches were allowed to serve drinks – and only the most delicate, goddess-like ladies were allowed to drink them._

_When she stumbled upon the prettiest object she had ever seen, Sira Caronte was just 11 years old and hoping to earn a few spare septims running errands behind her mother’s back. She was too young to work at either of Anvil’s taverns – although she knew which one to aspire to – and still not schooled enough to know anything about conjurations and enchantments, but she had eyes: although humble copper, the circlet had a special blueish glow to it that, to her eyes, made it worthy of a princess. After quickly checking nobody was looking, she stuffed it inside her dress, finished her gig, and sneaked back home to try her treasure on._

_If the circlet itself was not worthy of royalty (which was beyond the possible knowledge of a port urchin born to a “soiled” tavern wench), the feeling of invulnerability and radiance that came from wearing it could turn you into a noblewoman, Sira thought. Fatigue ceased the second she placed it on her forehead, replaced by a sudden impulse to straighten her shoulders and walk with her head high. Now she was a real elegant lady, tall and proud, who would take shit from no one._

_Footsteps were heard. The door creaked. Emilia was back and if she saw the tiara, she’d want to sell it and use the money to buy her an apprenticeship or some other plebeian purpose. She quickly took it off and hid it, only to see herself turned back into the usual tired, slouchy, dirty girl._

* * *

 

So the Pale Pass was not the best idea. Really. For future reference, Sira, whenever someone tells you a road is “closed by avalanches and infested by rebels”, choose a different one. Then of course, what were the options exactly, genius? It’s the only way to cross from Bruma to Skyrim for days on either direction, and it was crossing or gaol, once old Lucia realised she wasn’t getting the gown she’d paid for. It had to be Pale Pass.

I was hoping I could reach an understanding with these rebels so they’d let me cross – although judging by the clinking of swords and Nord-accented groans of pain, whatever skirmish is happening down there, it is not going to the rebels’ favor. This is not good at all – I thought my only problem was to find someplace covered and warm before nightfall, but if the Imperials take over Pale Pass, there will be no way to negotiate silent passage. And it’s getting cold already.

Maybe I should just try to crawl my way through one side while everyone is busy killing each other? The pass seems to be at its widest point right here, but it’s still easy to see enough big rocks to hide behind on both sides. It’s simply a matter of advancing slowly, watching my steps, making sure my coin doesn’t clink, and to avoid stepping on anything that may drop on a soldier’s head. Let’s get going, then.

I can see the end of the wide section. From there, I should just jump back on the road and run north. Not the most ladylike start for my new life, but once I hit the first town, I’ll be ready to play my part. I can barely hear the soldiers anymore, go Sira! Just the chirping of birds, the howling of wind, and… the grunts of a troll?

* * *

 I used to think there was no worst feeling than being tired after a day’s hard labour, and no worst pain than that of spraining your ankle when sparring too harshly. I thought the sailors’ lewd comments were something to be truly afraid of.

Waking up on a cart, tied up, smelling like dried blood, feeling the effects of blunt force on the back of my head, and barely dressed: now that’s fear. Suddenly being arrested and having my tiara taken away seemed frivolous – they took it away anyway, alongside three years’ worth of savings, and my orcish daggers. And if the “True King’s” steward next to me had guessed it right (and he seemed knowledgeable enough of all things crime and punishment) we were on our way to be beheaded. At least I get to die a rebel rather than a serving maid.

 


	2. The Day It Rained Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scene of gory destruction can be traumatizing, but it can also bring out the best of people around you. In Sira's case, an extra day of life is good enough.

Before I came to Skyrim, I was vaguely aware that Tamriel was full of less-diverse places than my hometown. The Gold Coast, with its trade ships coming from every part of Nirn, its alleyways where you were just as likely to be mugged by your cousin as by a Mer or Khajiit, was no stranger to racial slurs and demeaning remarks, especially if money or a woman were involved. However, I had not seen open, unapologetic racial prejudice until I left Anvil and started making my way through small hamlets are villages, were all strangers were suspicious by default - and those of strange races may as well be guilty before any crime is committed.

From what scarce news reached the Imperial Province about the rebellion, I knew that racism was entrenched to the core of it, on both sides. I was expecting to find slights and distrust everywhere – and prepared to shield behind my fake identity as an elegant noblewoman. It made no matter. From the second I was mistaken for a Troll, I was stripped of my disguise and reminded of the one thing that unites all intelligent races, human, beastfolk, and mer alike: the unyielding, uncompromising will to keep surviving by any means necessary, up to the end of the line.

* * *

  _The first few days after finding the circlet, she was particularly sneaky, and tried every trick to avoid going back to street where she’d found it. It was clear such a precious object was worth money and had an owner (one who perhaps was hiring thugs to retrieve it). Asking for help to find the owner was dangerous too, since everyone was going to assume she had stolen it._

_More importantly, she did not want to give it up. It became a religious ritual to be followed every day, right before supper: to stand in front of the looking glass, hand placed squarely on her hips, and her secret tiara on top of her tight curls. Powerful, commanding, beautiful, invincible: it could be all on her imagination, but there was a very real sensation of strength that came from wearing it. Sira figured it came simply from owning beautiful things, as all rich ladies seemed just as likely to walk around as if they owned everyone around them._

_The tiara was her only beautiful thing, and it seemed made just for her! If the roughly-polished metal did not give a majestic air to her unruly jet-black hair (that one that got people to question whether her father had been a Redguard), the sapphire it had on top was the exact same deep blue as her eyes, and the rustic rune-inspired motifs on the sides made her look like an (unusually tanned) Nord princess (which she could’ve been, for all she knew. Mother herself had no idea which of that week’s customers had been Sira’s father)._

_Someday, Sira taught, I’ll leave these docks and mother’s sleazy friends and the stench of fish, and I’ll go to Skyrim and simply tell everyone I’m a dead Jarl’s daughter. Nobody will question it if I’m wearing this._

* * *

 I wasn’t on the list. I had never been so glad to not be on the list. I did not want to attend this fancy party anyway. Pity the captain in charge did not seem to care.

In retrospect, it’s a good thing that poor horse thief tried to escape in such a frantic way. If it hadn’t been for him, I probably would’ve done the same, desperate as I was. Adrenaline and fear blinded me when one of the auxiliaries, Hadvar, asked me my name. I had been mentally preparing to use my made-up Nord name for weeks, to turn back when hearing it, but since I was going to die, it seemed unnecessary. Then I remembered I had decided to pretend to be with the rebels anyway. I stammered. He looked at me with pity.

“Sira Caronte” I said, killing Danica Jenssen before she was born.

“I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil."

For a 180-pound bundle of muscle and iron set on killing you, he was surprisingly polite about it. His voice was apologetic, and his gestures seemed carefully calculated to avoid accidentally hurting anyone with his six-feet-tall frame.

The block smelled of fresh blood, which is much more acrid, but a lot less unpleasant than the smell of dried blood. My eyes kept moving around, trying to grasp every detail of my surroundings – looking for the way out, maybe, but freaking out the executioner in the process, I hoped. My stomach growled – no, something else roared, and everything was set ablaze.

This was the first time I saw fire raining. I don’t recall much from this point onwards, and few from that day are still alive to help me complete that puzzle. I do recall, blurrily, feeling more alive than ever as I ran into a tower. Rocks fell on top of people. There was a hole in a thatched roof, and then said roof was also on fire. Children screamed, soldiers screamed, a soldier shielded a child and took him to safety. Charred flesh smells the same regardless of age or race (yet another thing that should bond us all): a lot like roasted venison.

Amidst the chaos, I can only recall two things clearly. First, Alduin’s face: a black embodiment of heat and death, his hungry nostrils inhaling my scent as if trying to suck my soul away. I knew right then it was me he was after.

The second thing is the moment in which Hadvar, after getting rid of my bounds, handed me an iron sword and we silently promised each other to watch each other’s back as if they were our own. I’d had toy wooden swords as a child and I had smacked several potential bullies with them, but as soon as I started transitioning from girl to woman, all my potential sparring partners disappeared. In the Imperial province, where everything’s more rigid, swords are not deemed womanly, and even lower class women would be ashamed of having enough muscle to wield one. My now-lost daggers had been enough of a transgression, tolerable only because I was a bastard from the dockside.

I stared at it for a few seconds. I came to Skyrim with a tiara, some rehearsed polished manners, and made up stories about silk dresses and royal receptions. I found a no-BS, battle-hardened society and a man who, without a second thought, just handed me a weapon identical to his and branded me his equal.

Several hours later, we finally arrived at his uncle’s home. His ankle was broken on two places thanks to a frostbite spider, and I was close to fainting after all the blood lost when facing by two wolves, but we were alive.


	3. Gratitude is no heavy burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penniless and scarred, Sira wakes up among strangers and in dire need of a back up plan. She now needs to determine how friendly her hosts are, and try to reciprocate.

I woke up right before dawn, confused by the textures around me, nauseated, in pain. Of the adrenaline rush and empowerment of the previous day, I had little left. Aggressive flashes of the previous day’s events began to flood my mind: Nothing like the sight of your own charred self to remember what a dragon is and what it does: my entire left leg, from the knee down, was heavily burnt and blistered. Something had slashed me from the upper neck to the right collarbone, but I couldn’t remember what. Surely I would’ve noticed something like that?

The shocked expressions in the faces of Hadvar’s relatives were a lot clearer – but not their names. Hadvar had been unable to stand by himself, and his ankle was in such a bad shape that I had to use a healing spell for the first (smaller) fracture before the big, painful fracture could be seen to by his family. I must have passed out right afterwards, amidst winces of pain and shouts of disbelief at our dragon story. I wouldn’t have believed it either, but at least they were nice enough to bandage me up and let me spend the night. Divines smile on them. What now, though?

All my supplies, alongside 8 months’ worth of savings were gone. My clothes were beyond acceptable, holes burnt and pieces torn all over. The armour I’d “borrowed” was an Imperial guard armour, surely impersonating the law was asking for extra trouble?

With some luck, the previous day’s loot would yield enough for a new belted tunic, and I could find honest work somewhere? This was definitely not what I came to Skyrim for – if I had been happy with menial labour, I could’ve stayed home; the possible scars on my legs had pretty much closed the gate at trying out mom’s line of work, so at least that temptation was closed.

Ah, mom! I know you always wanted to make sure I’d be better that you, but I’m sure this was not how! I’d spent years building that stupid castle of fantasy and pretty things in my head, fancy myself something I’m not, lie, pretend and steal… only to run away and find myself empty handed once more. That should teach me.

Sunrise came and passed while I curled up with nothing but my own vulnerability, not caring if the rest of the household was waking up, until a tiny hand placed a sweet roll on my lap.

“Please don’t cry. Does it hurt much? I’ll tell mommy to give you a potion.”

I stared at the girl. She had big, round eyes, full of curiosity and something that was definitely not pity.

“I’m Dorthee, remember? Hadvar’s niece. Do you want me to call mommy? You look pale.”

“No, it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt that much” I attempted a smile, must have been funny because she giggled. “How’s your cousin?”

“Daddy won’t let him leave bed. So you’re from the Imperial City? Are you in the Legion too? Are you his boss?”

“No!” I had no choice but to chuckle. Kids are annoying in their questions sometimes. “I’m from Anvil, further south…“ Alvor’s appearance, bacon platter in tow, interrupted the naïve interrogation.

“Dorthee, please go help your mother. Sira? I hope she didn’t wake you just to ask you things. How are you feeling? Can you sit up? We were really scared after you fainted” There was something reassuring and fatherly about his voice. Well, my imagined idea of fatherly.

“I am better, yes, still very lightheaded.” I placed some cushions behind me, and got up slowly. “I don’t think I can stand up yet, but as soon as I can, I promise…”

He placed the bacon platter straight on my hands. “Promise nothing and take your time. You lost an awful deal of blood, but I cannot forget your first priority was to mend my nephew’s ankle. Thanks to you, he is going to walk again. We owe you, and he personally feels forever in your debt.”

“Thank you, sir. It was nothing, considering if it weren’t for him, I would’ve been eaten by a dragon.”

“Which is exactly what I needed to talk to you about.”

“Right.” Was he still doubting our sanity? Surely someone else had noticed such a massive shadow, someone else had survived? “I understand it sounds impossible, I almost don’t believe it myself. But yeah, there was a dragon yesterday at Helgen, and it breathed fire, and it killed.”

“And did it truly show up to let Ulfric Stormcloak escape?”

Alarms rung on my conscience. Strictly speaking, I was the one about to die – but did he know that?

“I suppose he was next in line, yes. But I don’t know if he escaped. Once the fires started, everyone just stopped caring, I guess. I suppose Hadvar was able to tell you as much last night.”

“Actually, he said he was pretty sure he escaped. Nevermind, he is a soldier, and you’re not. The dragon sounds like the bigger menace either way. I thought he was hallucinating from the pain of his injury. The town’s drunkard claims he saw it fly, but most sensible people paid him no attention. Hadvar is no drunkard, and the burns you arrived with were not made by a torch.”

Again, the caring undertone. If he caught on to my half-lie, he was not angry about it.

“Thank you for tending to them. And the bed, and the food. I could never repay you.”

“It was the least we could do.”

“No, I mean, I literally have no coin…”

“It’s no bother. My nephew will walk again, and that should be enough. I could use a favor.”

“Anything!” He could’ve ordered me to kill his daughter, for all I cared. Kindness was not something I’ve ever been used to.

“As soon as you are strong enough to make the journey, I need you to bring word of the dragon attack to the Jarl of Whiterun. I can’t leave the forge unattended, and Hadvar won’t be up to such a trip for a week or two, if we want his ankle to heal completely, but the Jarl must know. He must send troops to protect the village. It’s just a couple of hours east of here, but I can provide you with some supplies for the trip. I’ll sharpen your blade and all, just in case.”

There it was, again. The wink of complicity and trust, and the offer of a weapon. It seems like around here, there’s no more natural display of regard that offering weapons.

“Consider it done as soon as I can sprint again. Hadvar is a soldier, he needs full use of his legs.” Just as I said that, it hit me that I knew little else of Hadvar – and that he knew little else of me.

“Exactly. Sigrid will be back shortly to help you change your bandages. Meanwhile, eat and sleep, you need the strength.”

He left half a pound of fried bacon on my lap, a sweet roll, and a task. This is why they think Imperials are too full of words.


	4. Steel is not always cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once you grow used to a cut-throat world, it's easy to try to respond to kindness with a hidden blade - and just as easy to feel confused by one's conscience.

For all its cold reputation, the mid-afternoon sun felt inviting enough as soon as my legs were able to support me. I still needed to move carefully, to avoid rubbing my burns against anything, and any attempt at swiftness was followed by vertigo, but I managed to dress myself in less than half an hour.

Through the window, I could see Hadvar sitting out in the gallery, staring into the road. It seemed like the best opportunity to thank him, check on him, and find out what he’d told his family of me. With my money and circlet gone, and my – stupid – plans destroyed, I felt the strange urge to get to know him and have him trust me. Partly because I knew I needed to cultivate the one acquaintance I had in the entire province, partly because… I simply needed to talk.

“Hello, there” I said. He nearly jumped off his chair, even if I had not even tried to sneak on him. Odd. He regained composure quickly, at least.

“Hullo! How are you feeling? Come sit with me, please!” Overeagerly, he pointed at the extra chair next to his.

“Dizzy. Confused. Better. You?”

“A little bit, yes. The important thing is that I’ll walk, though, and for that I’m grateful.” He patted me on the back of the hand.

“It’s nothing. I’m really grateful to your aunt and uncle too, and to you, for that matter. It’s nice to be alive.”

We remained awkwardly silent for a while. Life and limbs saved or not, it was clear I was among complete strangers. Down the road, logs fell off a cart, making a great deal of noise. This time, I was the one who jumped for cover.

“Just when I was thinking I envied your calm” He said, attempting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I have not been able to sleep, I keep seeing that child…”

“I didn’t know where I was when woke up. Then I remembered its face, and the smell of charred flesh.” I’m never eating venison again, I thought, but I chose not to say it. No need to ruin the dish for him too.

“And I’ve been sitting here all day, like an old man, just so I can watch the skies. I’ve been soldiering for years, but I had never felt like this after a battle.”

“Well, I don’t suppose you’ve had that many battles that involved mythical creatures?”

He chuckled. I can work with this.

“It goes away after a while. That’s what I’ve heard.” I ventured. 

He nodded, and did not need to ask me what “it” was.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen that many battles, of any kind.”

I lifted an eyebrow at this. “You suppose? I thought I was a dangerous rebel.” Yes, I had to bring it up eventually. May as well know at once if I was going to have to sleep in some stable.

“On behalf of my superiors, I am once again sorry that we tried to execute you without trial. If it helps you feel any better, they probably burned at Helgen, alongside the only list with your name on it, as far as I know.”

“Call me selfish, but no, that does not make feel any better. Either way, it’s not the first time I’ve seen the people in charge fucking it up for the whole team. I’m from Cyrodiil, after all”

“Ah, so we are a bit rebellious then?” He smirked. Is this how Nords flirt?

“Oh, officer, please don’t call the Thalmor, I’ll do anything!” I replied, complete with an affected damsel-in-distress gesture.

“My lady! You shock me! You presume to bribe a Legion member? I never knew Imperial ladies were so decadent, not even runaway tomboys” He kept laughing.

“How dare you call me a tomboy! Next you’ll say I’m Orcish or that I’m lacking an eyebrow”

“Well, yes, the right one is a bit burnt towards the edges.”

“Excellent, it will match the big chunk of hair you’re missing over here” I said, approaching to grab a wild chunk behind his ear. He tried to dodge it, and nearly fell off his chair. All of the sudden, he was no longer laughing, just studying me.

“So you’re not a Stormcloak. You sound like a well-bred debutante from the Imperial City, but you don’t look the part – your skin and eyes are too fair, you’re taller than General Tullius, and your arms and killing instincts must have been trained for something beyond balls and gowns. In fact, if it weren’t for that strange hair of yours, I’d take you for a Nord in a heartbeat. So…”

“Done appraising me?” I raised an eyebrow.   Is this still flirting?

“Not until I get your full story”

“Then just ask for it.”

“Only if the mysterious shield-maiden promises to answer.”

Ah, but of course. I had plenty of answers available, and as long he didn’t expect the truth he could get his wish. The truth was much too ridiculous anyway.

“I was looking for my father.” He had already decided I looked Nord enough, and nobody could say it was false. “I was born and raised in Anvil, and my mother had a Redguard grandparent, that’s where my hair comes from. My father left on a trade mission when I was 2 and didn’t come back. I don’t even recall his face, but I had a heirloom from him – a circlet with gems and the shield of Morthal on one side. My mother passed, so I sold everything from our store and came to look for him.” No need for him to know when had mother died, under what circumstances, or what was our trade. “I’m no delicate noblewoman, but we did business for a lot of them, so I had tutors.” Well, it was more like the delicate flowers’ filthy husbands, but again, close enough to the truth.

“And now the heirloom is gone. Did you have any other leads to find your father?”

“No. I placed all my eggs on that basket. Clearly I’m not a shrewd businesswoman.” I tried to keep my voice as matter-of-fact as possible. Like, this is it, why are we still talking about it.

“How old are you?”

“23” Four years ago, the first time I had pressed a dagger against someone’s throat to make sure he’d stay quiet, I had been 23.

“23 and stranded on a strange land where you know nobody, chasing a man who may be long dead based on the markings of a heirloom?”

“I didn’t like Anvil that much, I didn’t fit in and I was sick of the heat.” I didn’t like the stinky alley where Mom’s skooma habit had driven us, more likely. “Not the best thought-of plan, I know”

“Indeed, you would’ve been wasted as a business woman. You’re a warrior.” I didn’t even have to remind myself of the cultural differences, his tone made it very clear he was complimenting me.

“I am no warrior. I had never grabbed a sword before yesterday.”

“Are you sure?”

“Ok, maybe wooden ones, when nobody was watching.”

“Aaaaand? Daggers, maybe?

I stared at him. “How did you know?”

“I’ve trained plenty of new recruits. I can tell when someone’s never faced real danger. It’s damn hard to remember how to aim for the kill in the middle of a life-threatening battle – it takes practice to replace natural instinct with more useful techniques. Most green fighters just shake it around nonsensically. Either you’ve got more training that you’re willing to admit, or you’re used to defending your life.”

“I’m used to having things to defend, yes. I’ve always carried a large dagger on each side. “

“A dual-wielder? And she’s no warrior, she says!”

I snorted. “Highborn or not, fighting is for those who can’t sweet-talk their way out of trouble and negotiate their safety with some Alto wine.”

“So I’ve heard. Doesn’t look like they convinced you, it must be your father’s legacy.” There he was, puffing his chest already. These are proud people, and this was a card that I should learn to play smoothly. “If this serves as any consolation, maybe you were meant to end up stranded here. Maybe you were never meant to be an Imperial trader. You’re clearly made of steel.”

“I suppose there is no higher compliment here. So what’s your story?”

“I don’t really have one.”

“Of course you do. Why did you join Legion? How did you end up fighting your neighbour from down the road?”

“I grew up here. Both my parents were in the Legion, so I stayed with my aunt and uncle and got to enjoy a normal family life as a child. Once I was big enough to feel that exact same impulse to see the world and find adventure, I simply did what felt logical. Lucky, in a guess.” No, not logical, I thought, and not truly lucky. I know that matter-of-fact tone. You got dealt a crappy card by life, I’m sure of it.

“So your mother was allowed to continue in the Legion after having you? In Cyrodiil, they usually make them retire as soon as they marry.” They don’t, as far as I know, but he seems willing enough to believe it.

“Not here. Not even the Companions, with all their traditions and secrets, bat an eye at warrior women.”

“The Companions?”

“They’re like the Fighters Guild, but much older and much more respected.”

“Looks like fighters always are around here. So how long since you joined? Had the rebellion started?”

“A bit over five years.”

“So you signed up to protect people from frost trolls, now to fight your neighbours.”

“I did, yes. Do you think that makes me naïve?”

“No, I think it makes you a good person. There’s nothing wrong with hoping for the best, and then making due with the real.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I truly want Skyrim to get rid of the bloody Stormcloaks! Ulfric is but a power-hungry tyrant set on provoking the Thalmor.”

“I don’t need to be convinced”

“Don’t need, or don’t want to?”

“Both, really. I wasn’t born yesterday, I know the Thalmor are no small threat. But I did arrive in Skyrim yesterday, so I’m not forming a full opinion yet. What about your parents?”

“What about them?”

“They didn’t just retire from the Legion peacefully, did they?”

“My father fell abruptly ill and passed eight years ago.”

“And your mother?”

Even handsome, sweet men can show pure hatred in their eyes.

“Twenty five years ago, she asked for leave to visit her sister in Markarth. She got caught up on the incident. Never returned. I was just six.”

His voice went suddenly icy, and a vein started throbbing on his left temple. As kind and soft-mannered as he’d shown to be, I did not dare to ask him what was the incident. I left a few seconds pass before I squeezed his hand. He let me, so I decided that it was safe to change the subject.

“I promised Alvor to carry a message to Whiterun – Kynareth-willing, I should be able to do that tomorrow, or by Loredas at the latest.”

“But you’ll come back after that, right? I won’t be able to begin the trek to Solitude for a couple of weeks, I was hoping to teach you a few things? Just to balance your sword better, maybe lift some steel ingots so you can later carry a shield?”

He seemed genuinely excited about that prospect, even if still a bit on edge. Meanwhile, I had forgotten I had promised him to join the Legion! ARRGH. I suppose, all in all, I can’t be blamed. We were attacked by wolves thirty seconds after that.

I’d have to find a way to dodge, I mean, _indefinitely_ _postpone_ that commitment once his spirits cooled down.

“It’s playdate, then! Let me fetch some honey nut treats to celebrate” As I stood up from my chair, the ground under me moved. It wasn’t the dizziness, or the sudden realization that this is what respect felt like. It was realizing that I had nowhere else to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The **Markarth Incident** happened a few years after the White Gold Concordat was signed, but it has no exact date - so I took the liberty of assgning one.  
>  It was one of the most important events that led to the Stormcloak Rebellion.  
> The Jarl of the Reach asked Ulfric to help him retake Markarth (which was under control of the Reachmen), promising he would lift the ban on Talos worship in return. Ulfric took the city ruthlessly, allegedly torturing Reachwomen and, once inside, executing everyone who didn't support him (farmers, merchants, and the elderly included).


	5. Respect is meant to be earned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite her rocky start, Sira still has a chance to get what she craved the most out of Skyrim: a completely clean slate, free of the burdens placed by her origin or past actions.

_Eleven or twelve is too young for many things, but more than old enough to understand what disdain means. And Sira was already an expert at disdain by age 8. You don’t need to understand what Skooma is too understand what the entire tavern thinks of people who go to extreme lengths to get more of it. And just because market stalls were everywhere, Sira was quick to realize that some things were not meant to be sold – even if the buyers would get a free pass._

_In many ways, Sira had no mother – just Emilia, the woman who had given birth to her. They lived in a dark, stuffy room in an alley, just a stone’s throw from the docks. One large bed, a couple of wooden buckets, a looking glass, and two cupboards with more bright clothes than food in them. Whoring was profitable, by all accounts, but almost every dime of Emilia’s earnings went straight to feed her addiction, and while she laid in bed “talking to the moon”, Sira was left to her own devices – whether it meant gathering food, doing small gigs around the market or docks, or just looking for trouble._

_Finding food was hard enough as a child, but at least charity was reliable. As Sira approached adolescence and began developing a female form, strangers stopped being so disinterested. By the time she was 16, Sira already seemed to be done growing, towering at least half a head above other women, her large hipbones and wide shoulders hiding her scrawniness. She was forced to learn how to move quickly and mind her surroundings. From watching drunk sailors brawl, she learnt how to shape her fists to give the maximum amount of pain, to quickly block treacherous back attacks, and how to slash someone’s cheek with a dagger in less time than it takes to say “whore”._

_One morning, as she was entering the Harborside Warehouse – she’d scored a gig loading crates onto a departing ship – when a grimy looking Dunmer groped her bosom as he passed by. He was quickly shoved down the stairs without a second thought. He’d have been another anonymous creep if Sira had not arrived home that afternoon to an empty room and a trembling note:_

> _My dear, lovely daughter:_
> 
> _I have been blind all these years. With your light feet and insolent silences, I never realized you are far from the little street devil you used to be. You are also not a respectable woman yet, and you may never be thanks to me._
> 
> _I have made us the laughing stock of the alley and you into prey for some disgusting grayskin I hope it’s not too late to turn our lives around. I have gone to the Chapel of Kynareth to ask for a cure. This is barely a life for me, and should never be a life for you. Divines willing, I will get the strength to get us something better._
> 
> _Love, your mother_

_Sira, ever the realist, burnt the note and half-hoped Emilia would never come back. She could just feed herself, and enjoyed no longer having to nurse a drugged burden. However, Emilia showed up back on their doorstep two weeks later, hair washed and shiny, and with the most austere expression she had ever seen._

_“I got a job at Morvayne’s.” Emilia said, almost apologetically. “I’ll dust off shelves and sweep floors.” Sira was ready to just throw the door at her face. She was 16 already, and doing better on her own._

_“Cleaning for the blacksmith? Doesn’t sound like it will pay very well. How are we going to keep buying food and that wretched drink of yours?”_

_“We won’t. I’m never approaching skooma, moon sugar, not even wine, ever again.”_

_Things changed. For once, Emilia started mothering Sira in ways that she hadn’t dared to since she was six. Suddenly she was telling her what to do, telling her to mind her hair, making home cooked meals, and giving her sincere hugs. Sira was no longer allowed to get into brawls with the boys, to take “manly” jobs lifting heavy things, or bring home trinkets of mysterious origin. Emilia even had one of the priestesses arrange a “properly feminine” apprenticeship for Sira, with a prestigious seamstress._

_They were just a couple of notches above miserable, but no longer going hungry or doing anything “dishonourable”. Emilia was trying hard at making them “decent” women, but Sira felt they were just playing house – that everyone in the alley remembered Emilia’s past profession and that she’d have prettier things if she were on her own._

* * *

 

That evening it rained, and my head started to ache, as it always does. Back in Anvil, this was no big deal, since rain was scarce enough and nothing was expected to get done during it, but here it was said to be a common occurrence. Further proof, if I needed it, that I didn’t think this trip through.

My evident poor spirits, however, were attributed to overexertion, so I was treated to a chair by the fire and more boiled cream tarts that I could swallow. After pronouncing them my new favourite dessert and vastly superior to anything I’d had back in Cyrodiil, Sigrid came over to bring me the latest gossip on a lot of people I had never met – a love triangle involving a fellow Imperial, a bard, and an elf! Robbers breaking into the general goods store and stealing nothing but some weird heirloom! – and to help me fit the belted tunic they gave me. Overwhelmed as I was with all the warmth, I insisted on helping her improve some of her own clothes. All in all, for the first peaceful evening at home in my life, it was going rather well.

I was almost expecting to be unceremoniously kicked out the next morning, as it was evident that finding bed space for two extra people was not fully sustainable in such a small household. I was feeling much recovered, but I was also beginning to predict cracks in my façade: the warmer Alvor and Sigrid acted towards me, the higher the risk they would ask questions that I would not be able to answer convincingly.

However, no restlessness of mine could compete with Hadvar’s increasing signs of boredom. He would never be comfortable just sitting idly, and I’m still certain that if I hadn’t been around to distract him, he would’ve ended up tied to a chair. Armed with a couple of wooden clubs from Alvor’s workshop and some wooden spoons, we managed to overlook the fact that he couldn’t leave his chair to stage some basic fencing instruction.

We spent most of the day going over the basic differences between holding a dagger and striking with a sword. Half-playfully, we sparred while sitting down and went over the main blocking techniques – years of trained instinct helped me grasps those concepts much more quickly than he expected. As bonding opportunities go, it was perfect: the physical nature of it turned my unelegant figure into an advantage, it provided close contact, and gave him a chance to show off.

“Now, if the blow comes sideways, from the left, like this” He demonstrated with a club “then you don’t want to risk it even getting close – it will be getting the strength from the entire torso, not just the arm muscle. You want to block him as soon as possible and use that to push him backwards – and then just perforate his stomach”

“What if I were to skip the shield and just keep one sword on each hand? – I asked him, clubs in hand – I could slice some Stormcloak’s throat _while_ opening up their bellies”

I mimicked the movements with my hands, careful to only brush his torso ever so slightly. I did not invent the game, but I know it thoroughly – even if I’m not used to it feeling _natural_.

“Ma’am, I can’t begin to explain how exciting it is to hear you say that.”

“Exciting? Ma’am? When did I turn 30?”

Pretend to frown, Sira, and transition into an intense gaze. There you go.

“A woman who dual wields cannot be called ‘miss’, even if a delicate southern flower. Mere preservation instinct.”

Break into a smile, and pull back. Always leave them wanting more.

He was playing his part as the honourable gentleman extremely well. It had been a while since I had been made feel desirable, and I enjoyed his gallantry – to the point of feeling slightly guilty, perhaps. I began to seriously consider the advantages of such a protector all the way up to the capital. Not the life of luxury I had envisioned for myself, but perhaps a lot more realistic.

* * *

 

_A seamstress’ assistant often had the chance to climb up to the nice side of town, even if never belonging. Nevertheless, Sira clung to every word she heard, trying to appropriate the cadence of their speech, making mental notes about the way some vowels would be elongated, while each syllable caressed._

_Once, half out of a bet with herself, she took the circlet of her childish fantasies and wore it around alongside a “borrowed” dress from her boss. She hoped to attract admiration and love, but only ended up feeling bony, wide, and shapeless. However, after a few moments she noticed the way doors would open and fellow smallfolk would step aside to let her pass._

_That is, until Alivar decided to compliment her “delicately enchanted circlet”. The altmer carried himself with a poise that seemed beyond his modest mage novice robes and spoke with elegant terms like “aurora borealis” and “stamina enchantments”. He promised to teach her some restoration magic and pretended to believe Sira’s clearly fake origins. He was also the one who probably got Emilia back on Skooma, but of all things, Sira was never mad about that. The illusion of beauty was just as addictive._

* * *

 

On the morning of the third day, I finally departed to Whiterun. I made a quick stop at the Riverwood trader’s, intending to buy a small sweet roll for Dorthee, only to find a truly stunning woman having a very heated argument with the trader. Apparently it was about the stolen goods Sigrid had told me about – a golden claw taken by bandits who had set up camp at Bleak Falls Barrows, a nightmare-worthy burial site where the beautiful Camilla was banned from going.

No wonder this woman was at the center of a love triangle. She embodied all the grace and diplomatic strength that was supposedly inherent to Imperial women, even if she was just a trader in a small hamlet. If anyone could out me as dockside bastard trash, it was her, so I kept conversation to a minimum.

The landscape on the way to Whiterun was bright and calm. The smoke and chaos of Helgen felt like centuries ago, as I climbed a soft hill and picked a couple of mountain flowers. The air was crisp and clear to the point of cliche, and an elk crossed my path literally begging to be caught and pelted. For a second, I let myself imagine a quiet life, living off the land in an honest way alongside a faceless burly and kind man. No more stealing or using myself as a bribe in an overcrowded city: just hunt, trek, chop wood, all those quaint things country folk do.

Some things are better off kept as fantasy. The road turned downhill, and I could already see the farms and stables that announced Whiterun. Roars and screams reminded of the dangers of country life. I left the road and went down the steeper side of the hill, hiding behind some rocks, only to find a brutal fight between two people and a giant. A GIANT.

Curiosity got the better of me and I began approaching slowly, just marveled at the scene. A woman with a bow and a dagger jumped around quicker than I had ever seen anyone, letting loose arrows as if powered by a Dwemer machine. The guy beside her, dark hair over near-pearl skin, was the stereotypical Nord, tall and muscular and throwing a greatsword around as if it were a lockpick.

The giant seemed to be approaching its end, but of course, that damn will to survive! It managed to throw the woman to the ground, who let go of her dagger in order to break the fall. She wasted no time getting back on her feet, but the giant’s fist was already hammering over her. Out of instinct, I jumped sword held high and stuck it through its eye, while I used my shield to push its arm just enough for it to fall on solid floor. The giant just laid there, dead, as it must after having sharp metal slicing through its brain. The woman only took a second to catch her breath before introducing herself as Aela.

“You handled yourself well. You could make for a decent Shield-Sister”

“I don’t have any siblings” I said, confused. The big man just laughed at the back.

“An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions? An order of warriors. We are brothers and sisters in honour. And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough."

“That sounds like a proper occupation.” Fighting for coin _did_ sound more lucrative than the Legion, and infinitely more interesting than just being a Legionnaire’s woman. Mostly though, I wanted to shush the other guy, who I sensed was mocking me.

“You'll have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane up in Jorrvaskr. The old man's got a good sense for people. He can look in your eyes and tell your worth. If you go to him, good luck."

“Thanks. I might do just that” I wiped my sword in the grass and began walking down the road, leaving the two giant slayers to their banter. I was little more than a courier at the moment, but I envied them, their siblings and their well-protected backs.


	6. A pillow to call my own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter, the need for extra cash, and a drizzle stubbornness lands Sira in Jorrvaskr.

Less than an hour later, I faced Whiterun’s closed gates. What was I supposed to do? I tried waiting next to a Khajiit caravan for the Companions I’d met earlier, hoping to simply tag along, but after another hour it became clear that they were already inside or gone to chase another giant. Lunch time had passed and my stomach was rumbling fiercely, so no more lollygagging would do.

Sigrid had already told me a bit about Skyrim etiquette – unlike Cyrodiil, it seemed you could approach a Jarl without an official letter of introduction or a steward to make arrangements on your behalf – so surely I wouldn’t need much to get some guards to let me pass? I sighed and tried to summon my most authoritative Imperial demeanor possible.

“I’m here to speak to the Jarl.”

“Well tough luck, miss. The city is closed. Nobody goes in, nobody comes out, not until we know more about those dragon rumours” Said the guard on the left, a bit more meanly than I hoped for.

“I believe I wasn’t clear enough before. I’m here to speak to the Jarl _about_ the dragon attacks. I was at Helgen.” The guard on the right nudged his colleague. There must always be a smart guard and a stupid guard, apparently.

“Well, come in. Go straight into the central market, then up the stairs to find Dragonsreach.”

Right then, that wasn’t so hard. Emboldened by my success, I sprinted my way into the massive white palace, ignored the protests of two more guards at the gate, and made my way to the long hall. I kneeled down in front of the Jarl, only to be sneered at by some elf bodyguard – I’m sorry, _housecarl_. My confidence suddenly disappeared all over again.

I stumbled and stuttered across my story, not even caring that I was interrupting an advisor. On Alvor’s behalf, I pleaded for him to send guards to help Riverwood. As I retold what had happened at Helgen, flashes of horror returned to my mind and my eyes began to sting. The unexpected appearance of the elf’s hand helped me up again, and I realised that kneeling had not been expected. I braced myself for more snorts, but instead I was congratulated.

“You took it upon yourself to come all the way here and ask for help?” Should I have mentioned that it was Alvor who sent me? History will absolve me, I’m sure. “Now, there’s another thing you could do for me, that may end up being instrumental to fight these dragons. Farengar, my court wizard, is not here, but you’ll have to speak to him as soon as he comes back. In the meantime, here’s a small token of appreciation and some funds so you can stay in the Drunken Huntsman until he does. I’ll send for you.”

As much as I hate speaking in public, if there’s gold and a free armour to be gained, it’s certainly a skill to be honed. My tears and shaking had served a purpose, I thought, as I took my leave. Once back on the city, I strolled around the market stalls looking for bread and cheese. The 40 septims the Jarl’s advisor gave me would barely pay for 4 days at that inn, unless…. I mean, there was nothing to lose by trying, not beyond a few bruises. I seemed to have my foot in their door already, making it a better option than pretty much anywhere else.

A big part of me wanted to test how much of Hadvar's compliments had been empty flattery. A smaller part wanted something to impress him that was not complete trollshit. The food vendor was kind enough to tell me how to get to Jorrvaskr, and didn’t even realise I took some bread for free. Given that the building is a capsized ship in the middle of a plain, it wasn’t easy to miss.

I walked into its warm mead hall, and my chest fluttered with the smell of freshly baked rolls and succulent steaks. A woman was fighting a Dunmer right behind a large table, surrounded by cheers and bets. I would’ve put money on the woman, but instead chose to go looking for Aela. No need to make enemies before knowing if they’d let me in – they looked like a fierce bunch.

Aela greeted me with a side smile – would she always look like she’s laughing at a secret joke? – and pointed at the Harbinger’s studio. The big guy from before didn’t seem to recognise me and seemed to have grown larger – but that’s because it was a different man. Embarrassing.

“Do all Nords look the same to you, little Imperial? Or just twins?” He jested, and ruffled my hair. “Just go knock on that door, and good luck!”

I’m not used to being called little – my problem has always been being too big – but at least this one shared the joke. His laughter seemed wholesome somehow, which is a weird quality for a man who cracks skulls for a living.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I was still in time to just head out, maybe grab a boiled cream treat on the way out, and rent a bed. Nah, Aela herself said I could join… unless that was part of the joke? My feet led me to the Harbinger’s studio out of their own volition, it seemed, and before I noticed I was right in front of a wise-looking white-haired old man (that’d be Kodlak Whitemane, obviously) and the not-so-big guy from before. Too late to run now, so unless Whitemane decided right away that I wasn’t worth the trouble… oh no, he didn’t. Instead, he chose to follow _evidence_ and get Small Twin to test me outside.

Small Twin’s name was Vilkas, and he didn’t think I was worth the trouble. I’ve been slighted and assumed faulty my entire life, and I did not come to Skyrim for that. If I hadn’t had the impulse to prove him wrong, I probably would’ve snuck out on the way to the training yard – but I couldn’t just let him win without being properly defeated. Hadvar would’ve been proud of me, I’m sure – If he would still find me lovely after Vilkas was done with me.

The rules were simple: to go at each other in front of all the other companions, who were still bloodthirsty from the brawl from half an hour ago. No magic tricks, spells, or weapons: I had but two minor health potions left from Helgen, but surely he would not try to kill me for real? Among the audience, I noticed the brawling girl from earlier, who still had blood coming out of her eyebrow. She frowned at me. The blond guy beside her made a “cheers” gesture. No option but to get this over with.

Vilkas held a sword and a shield three times the size of my head. If I wanted a chance, I needed to stay well away from it. I grabbed my swords and got on guard just when we were given the signal. He tried a swing at me, and I dodged. I made the gesture of advancing towards him twice, but each time I found his shield automatically in position. He tried striking at me again, but my legs were always faster. We kept circling at each other, almost dancing, and my resolve was beginning to falter.

If there’s something I learnt getting rid of horny sailors and hungry thugs in my childhood’s back alleys, was to _never_ show my back to an attacker. However, this was no back alley and he was too honourable to grope my butt – although not necessarily so to break my spine. Only one way to find out.

I moved my right leg forward, expecting him to immediately cover his left. Instead of striking right away or stepping back, I quickly gave a full, 360° degree turn – well, twirl – to my right, landing right next to his unprotected right side. Supported by the momentum of my twirl, I was able to hit him violently with each hand. It took him less than three seconds to move his shield and strike back. The force of his blow made me let go of my left sword, so I just grabbed the right one with both hands and aimed for his legs twice, before getting him on the left arm. Just as Kodlak called for an end to the demonstration, he shoved his shield towards me and left me lying on the floor.

Big Twin immediately held his hand to get me up. I dusted myself off, checked my face for blood, and looked for my swords, which were dishonourably lying on the ground.

“Reasonable strength. Shoddy technique. Better reflexes than the last poor sod who knocked on our door." Grunted the one-eyed swordsman standing next to Brawler Girl.

"She has nerve, at the very least. But little else.” Vilkas said with an irritated voice. The buzz in my ears died down as soon as I noticed a quiet exchange of nods between Aela, the twins, and the Whitemane. “Fine. My brother will show you where the whelps sleep later. Meanwhile, go take my sword to have it sharpened.” I couldn’t help but grin. I did not spend 4 years as a seamstress’ apprentice not to know that being the errands girl meant I was in.

“Right away, sir” I replied, as turned left to take his sword back to the blacksmith’s, stupidly proud of already knowing she was right next to the gate. Then why was everyone suddenly laughing?

“Oy, whelp! Where are you going? The Skyforge is over there, up the stairs” He said, pointing right.

“I don’t understand why you’re letting her in?” The brawler said, as the crowd dispersed.


	7. The most valuable lessons are never straightforward

By the time I finished with the day’s errands, it was too late to fetch a courier. Alvor and Sigrid had no reason to worry about me, but I still felt I owed them a heads up that their task had been fulfilled. Hadvar, on the other hand, would be expecting me for more sparring lessons, and I felt a pang of guilt at thinking I had just found new instructors.

The morning after, I scribbled a quick note for them:

_“Dear everyone:_

_Jarl Balgruuf is very thankful for Alvor’s message. Guards should be on their way now. I have been asked to remain in town for a couple more days, as there’s something the court mage needs done regarding the dragons. Say hi to Dorthee._

_Thanks for everything, see you soon._

_Sira”_

My tasks as errand girl were every bit as menial as I had expected, but not particularly physically imposing. Fetch a shield for Aela. Have some daggers cleaned. Arrange for more wine. The training I was expected to follow in between errands, on the other hand, was every bit as grueling as it could be. The Companions had not stayed in business for over a thousand years by allowing their whelps to keep a single drop of sweat for themselves.

It was, however, an opportunity not to be missed, and I was immensely proud of having been admitted – far prouder than of anything else, ever, even if I wouldn’t admit it. So during the next three days, I gave myself into it, working my muscles so they’d be up to the standards demanded of my already quick reflexes. Each night, I would go to bed so sore and tired to have to plan the quickest way to drag myself into bed, and the following morning I’d need to rub my legs before they would respond to my mind. It would’ve reminded me of my childhood misery, if it weren’t for the deep thrill I would get at every compliment.

The library at Jorrvaskr was equally impressive, although I wasn’t particularly interested in reading. I’d never had any books as a child, and nobody on my alley had much beyond “The Lusty Argonian Maid”, but the sight of shelves full of tomes was something I expected only of palaces. On my second night, right after supper, I escaped the table (Torvar’s and Njada’s sarcastic bickering wasn’t as funny as they thought), and went down into the living quarters, just staring at the shelves right outside Kodlak’s office.

No pretty tales to be found on this one. The titles all suggested higher knowledge and pursuits: accounts of past explorers, manuals, biographies of great heroes. It was a weird feeling to have so much knowledge just staring at my fingertips, if only I knew where to begin looking… and in any case, was I looking for anything?

“Going to take your pick already?” I heard Athis say behind me. I flushed and grabbed the first tome I could, _Nord pharmacopeia_.

“Sure. There you go, take all the others if you want.”

“I may as well, for all the attention most people pay to them. Didn’t take you for an alchemist.”

“Oh” I quickly saw the cover of the book I’d taken. “I am no alchemist. That’s a big word. I can mix some blue mountain flowers with wheat or butterfly wings to heal myself. I’ll have to learn something better if I don’t want to pawn my own skin to Arcadia.”

“Can’t argue with that goal, to save a few septims. In Morrowind, any housewife can do what Arcadia sells. Try adding charred skeever and giant’s toe to the flowers, kid, and make sure you return the book where you found it.”

“Oh. Right. I’m sorry – I mean, thanks.”

“Was that so hard? Now, I left some pages there marked, with cheap ingredients to restore stamina. I’ve seen you fight, and you’ll need them.”

“I thought that was mostly needed when you’re carrying massive hammers around.” For someone who rarely seemed in a good disposition, may as well milk the opportunity as much as possible.

“Ah, the huge hammers. The locals are very fond of those.” He chuckled. “A small sword can be even more lethal if you’re fast enough, but you’re not yet. And you should work to waste less energy on unnecessary botched blows – they’ll get you killed. In the meantime, try trotting around less when they send you to errands, and do proper sprints.”

“Full on?”

“As fast as you can, for 30 seconds. That’s where your advantage should be.”

“Wait, let me get some parchment for notes”

“Funny.” He did look vaguely amused, but he clearly wasn’t the roaring laughter type.

“Couldn’t resist.”

“You’re all right, kiddo – you read and that makes three of us, other than Kodlak, but now you’re interfering with _my_ reading.”

“Very well. Thank you, and good bye.”

I really should’ve written down those ingredients he gave me. For an overly-defensive, bitter elf, Athis was OK.

There was not a lot of time to settle, as just two days after that, I was taken away from breakfast for the jarl’s summons. Quite inconvenient, as my training was just gathering momentum, but I was secretly relieved at what seemed to be a “rest day”. I mean, how hard could it be to fetch a stone from a grave?

If I’d asked, I bet Farengar, the court mage, would’ve mentioned the potential draugrs, skeevers, frostbite spiders, and general confusion expected inside Bleak Falls Barrow, but he didn’t seem to care for people in general and I didn’t care for looking like an ignorant foreigner. So as far as I was concerned, there was nothing to fear there beyond the bandits who had taken Lucan’s golden claw, and the pull of _that_ reward was stronger than the potential risk.

As an extra perk, I finally had the opportunity to go back to Riverwood. As I walked down their main road, Hadvar spotted me from his station on the gallery.

“There’s the missing lady!” He hollered and got up from his chair, which apparently he was already able to do, even if slowly.

“Divines, Hadvar, you look so much better! I’ve missed you, I feel I have so much to tell you.” I went straight for the hug.

“Then hurry, because the way it’s going, I should be carted off to Solitude in four more days.”

“Oh, where to start? The Jarl thinks I’m brave, so now he sends me on errands. I helped the Companions slay a giant so they invited me over to Jorrvaskr. Now I have the honour of being their newest whelp, and I’m learning so much! One of them is a Dunmer who taught me some Alchemy because Arcadia’s potions are so expensive. There’s also a couple of scary looking twins. One of them is nice, the other one is smart. And an incredibly quick, lethal hunter called Aela, she’s the one who was with the giant, I bet you’d fancy her.”

“Wait, slow down. You’re a Companion now? That’s incredible, Sira – but 4 days ago you were no warrior!”

Yes, I’m ignoring that frown you don’t realise you’ve made. I’m also ignoring the unpleasant chill your frown is giving me.

“Well, fine, the façade’s dropped. Worse things have happened.”

“What about the Jarl’s errands?”

“Oh, yes, that’s why I’m here. His mage wants me up in Bleak Falls Barrow to retrieve a stone that has something to do with dragons. Figured I would stop by and visit on the way.”

“Bleak Falls Barrow? By yourself? That place used to give me nightmares as a child.” He grabbed my arm just a notch above a friendly squeeze – almost getting to anxious clutch.

“Well, already told the Jarl I would, I’m not about to back down. Don’t have enough rank with the companions to get a Shield-brother as tag-along yet, nor enough coin to hire a mercenary. I’m sure I’ll handle it.”

Only about half the confidence I was showing was fake. The other half was seasoned by a desire to impress and my inability to deal with the fact that he looked unhappy at the fact I’d joined Companions.

“What about Faendal? The hunter.”

“The Bosmer leg to the torrid Valerius triangle? Sure, he’ll do it for free if it means impressing Valeria”.

“Well, excellent. Let’s get Dorthee to fetch him. I’ll talk him into it.”

* * *

 

_It was thanks to Alivar that Sira learned how to make a decent healing charm, how to behave at a dinner table like anything more than a barbarian, and the real value of her circlet. However, the most important lesson he left her with was the art of deceit. A lowborn 18 year old may be too inexperienced to lie convincingly, but Alivar had lived at least 4 times as much (even if he didn’t look so)._

_When he found her by the door of the Count’s Arms, he saw through her unpolished walk in less than ten seconds. Nevertheless, he lied, fed her vanity, and praised her superior intelligence before offering himself to tutor her the in arcane arts. He invested several evening buying her colovian brandy after their lessons, and dropping casual compliments right before casually asking her about her circlet or her living arrangements. Since he would get nothing but lies, he pretended to believe them and simply had her followed._

_Not interested in teaching her anything beyond flames and sparks, he sought a more aggressive way to gain her trust: he bedded her and told her he was in love. Whatever little restraint she’d had in Alivar as a “tutor” disappeared once he turned suitor: she wanted to believe herself special, and quickly became too enraptured with him to question anything. To finish pushing her over the edge, he placed a small bottle of Skooma in Emilia’s pocket, sending her straight into her moon dreams._

_Under Alivar’s plans, Emilia was meant to end up back in the whorehouse, giving Sira the perfect mental state in which to entrust him with her possessions. Emilia didn’t make it that far, though: driven violent and incoherent by abstinence syndrome, she got herself mauled to death by a Khajiit trader after trying to rob him of the Skooma he wasn’t dealing. When Sira showed up at his inn, red-eyed and shaky, to give him the news, he saw a much simpler opportunity and offered to buy her circlet straight ahead._

_Even the best make mistakes, and Alivar had made a huge one: by then, Sira had seen enough of the nice side of town to know copper and moonstone couldn’t be worth that much. Suddenly, his sweetness and attentions made sense, as did the faint, ethereal glow the circlet had and the inhuman confidence it gave the wearer. If her innocence was killed that instant, her need for food didn’t let her mourn it._

_She immediately agreed to give Alivar the circlet in exchange for almost 300 septims. She told him to follow her to her alley, handed it over, took her money in her pocket, and before he made the pretense of plans for their next encounter, Sira dug a poisoned dagger right between his ribs._

_Canis, Imp Stool and Mora Tapinella: the most valuable lesson he left her, she thought._


	8. Whispers of death and mead

I’ll admit it: I don’t like to think of Alivar. It’s been nearly ten years, and I haven’t been able to tell anyone I’ve met since about him. He was the first of my three shames – and I’ll be dead before I let anyone from my new life in Skyrim to learn of those. Still, the knowledge he left me with has saved my life enough times already, and at least now I can perform a healing spell without immediately seeing his face before me.

I’ll admit this as well: as painful as the memories are, I can’t help but to dwell on them whenever confronted with elves and lovesick puppies – and Faendal was both. He’d agreed to come with me to Bleak Falls Barrow and aid me confront the bandits stationed there – so I could fulfil Farengar’s assignment more easily. He had an extra motive, of course: to impress a sight in Skyrim of unmatched beauty – no, this is not a pang of jealousy over the fact that nobody’s ever offered to step inside a cave full of bandits to please me. For once, the unapologetic display of love was endearing, even if it did trigger the wrong memories.

He showed me a couple of archery tricks on the way there, at least. After we’d cleared the broken tower right before the barrow and the site’s entrance, we inspected every nook and cranny looking for the claw. Nothing there. The face he made after searching the last bandit was heart-breaking. We shared the loot evenly, and then he parted – I still had a stone to look for, after all.

Once inside, I lost track of time, hearing nothing but a gentle whisper that I still don’t think it was my imagination. Ancient Nords clearly cared greatly about disturbing the dead – if the complicated layout of the place wasn’t enough, there were also booby traps everywhere, and even a gate protected by a door puzzle. Draugrs by the dozen, too, which was nasty business, but according to Athis’ notes their bonemeal makes for neat fire-resist potions.

Frostbite spiders are even nastier, and one them came so close to biting me to make me briefly reconsider my choice to use a second sword instead of a shield. At last, I found the bandit with the Valeriuses’ claw, just as he was about to get eaten by a spider – and he tried to double cross me! Such nerve.

I wish I hadn’t had to kill him, but as soon as he mentioned not wanting to share the loot… Oh, Alivar, you should’ve warned me that piercing flesh with sharp metal would be delicious. The whispering in my ear grew even stronger, and it began to feel like my reward was calling me, from inside the dungeon.

I opened the second door puzzle – the bandit had done most of the work for me there, at least. After that, a simply began running and following the whispers, which grew more aggressive with every step. They led me to the main chamber, where the dragonstone awaited me right in front of a curved wall full of ancient carvings, which seemed to emit a pale blue glow – the same one as my circlet, I could swear. As I approached the wall, the whispers turned into shrieking, the pale glow became a blinding light, and I fell to my knees.

* * *

 

Riverwood’s torches were blinking. It must be right after supper, since most people seemed to be sitting by the fire at home or strolling close to the pub. The working day was over, and it was time to catch some refreshment, in a couple of hours everything would go dark. Life in small villages has those queer routines. I was coated in thick dust right below an even thicker layer of spider webs, so it felt just right to take a room for the night before returning the claw to Lucan and Camilla.

I didn’t even make it to the inn’s counter. As soon as I entered the building, I found Hadvar regaling a Sigrid, Sven, and Embry with soldiering stories. He immediately waved me over to his table, and kissed my hand as soon as I approached.

“My sweet, sweet nordic imperial” He was slurring enough to excuse the sudden, very public, familiarity. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

“Easy there with the anxiety, grandma. And I go by _whelp_ nowadays, I told you.” Embry chose that moment to pass out on the table with a loud thump, which we ignored.

“There’s little else to do around here. I will worry as much as I please, and you will mock me. How was the adventure?”

“It was excellent. Got two pieces of treasure for the price of one quest. But don’t let me interrupt you, you guys were clearly in the middle of a story”

“Nonsense, no interruption, you sit right here!” He dragged a chair in between his own and Sigrid’s. I quickly glanced at her apologetically, as if asking for permission. She nodded, seemingly giving it.

“Sira, I suppose you won’t get back until tomorrow?” She asked as she handed me a mug.

“Yes, I’m afraid it’s too late to bang on the Valerius door now, right?” I replied.

“Nobody bang on Camilla’s door! I will duel whoever does!” Sven hollered, flushed.

“Easy there! This Nordic imperial has fought countless draugrs and a dragon just this week. She’ll win any duel”

“No duelling. Also, you’re telling people now we fought that dragon? Really? How long have you been drinking?”

Sigrid giggled, suddenly looking much younger than she was. “Oh, I only came to join them an hour ago – but these three have been hitting the Honningbrew since lunchtime. No surprises on Embry’s side, I suppose.”

“Hey, I’m not drunk! Sven should be sent home, don’t you think so, aunt?” Oh, subtle work, Hadvar.

“Oh, but I was just about to tell you all about how Faendal saved my life twice today!” I hit gold with that one – Sven abruptly stood up and announced he needed to guard Valeria’s doorstep.

“I’ll take that as my cue to leave as well. Please, Sira, don’t bother with a room here, and bring Hadvar home as soon as you’re…done.”

“I’m fine, aunt!”

“Nobody’s saying you’re not. But you still need support. For your leg.” I intervened.

“Listen to the girl, Hadvar, she’ll teach you a lesson or two about subtlety. I’ll see you two soon.” Sigrid gave us each a kiss on the cheek before leaving. She could’ve taught the High King a lesson on diplomacy, I thought, as I was left alone with Hadvar. We stayed at the inn for over an hour, him telling me more stories about his beginning in the Legion, me giving him the details about the Bleak Falls and the Companions. We continued talking as we walked slowly back home, with his arm around my shoulder.

“You are a witty, wicked creature.” He said, laughing, after hearing how I’d managed to hit “the smart twin” on my trial.  
“Thank you, sir. So kind of you to notice.” Mock-curtsey right on cue. It was becoming my thing.

“I should start being careful around you. You’re risky business, beating up Companions and slaying bandits”

“Oh, please! You’re safe from me. Not an exception I grant easily, you’ll see.”

“I certainly hope you don’t grant _these_ exceptions too often.” And with that, he planted a kiss right on my lips.

Damned be the mead, which I could taste in both of our breaths. It left me no choice but to kiss him back. His kiss was a bit sloppy, but I deepened it anyway, circling his neck with my arms, relishing in the feeling of warm refuge he was giving me. He had me grabbed firmly by the waist, which was by all means promising – until he abruptly stopped. He started stroking my left cheek with his thumb and gave me a peck in the forehead, which said too much of the wrong kind of affection.

“My sweet adventurer. What will I do without you next week?”

“You’re a strong, tough soldier. You’ll manage.” I nibbled his neck softly, but he moved away from it.

“I wish we didn’t have to say goodbye so soon.”

“Shhh! Now’s not the time for that. We still have 4 days until you leave.”

“But tomorrow you go back to the Companions.”

“I can postpone that.”

“But you’ll stay with them.” How can he sound so upset while looking so enraptured?

“Don’t you think I should?”

“You were supposed to come with me to Solitude. Where I could make sure you’re safe.”

Wait, what? I thought I was a dangerous warrior? What’s wrong with this man?

“I can keep myself safe!”

“Right, of course you can. And I suppose it’s a privilege, to be a Companion.”

Right, nothing but the ramble of excessive mead. And yet he keeps his distance.

“Yes, it’s a unique chance to be trained by the very best and make some serious coin, if that’s what you mean. And as soon as I’m good enough, I’ll go to General Tullius and look you up.”

“Train hard, then. I’ll be waiting.”

“Oh, I will. I’m sure you’ll find plenty to keep you entertained until then.”

“Right, like the memories from the loveliest friend I’ve ever had”

“Don’t say that. I may believe you.”

“Believe what you will. You are, and I’ll be waiting. I promise.” No, no, don’t say that, Hadvar. This is more than I’m willing to promise.

“We still have four days before we need to make any sad promises. And I’m still full of Barrow dust. Should we go to the river?” I pulled him closer, hoping that would win over any reserve he had.

“You go if you want. I… you leave tomorrow.”

My smile froze completely.

“Yes, I do. If that’s the problem, just say it. Just tell me what you want.”

“I’m sorry, I should not have started anything.” With that, he kissed my hand again and immediately stepped back, his sudden distance feeling very final.

* * *

 

The next morning, I still couldn’t make sense of his behaviour, so all that was left was to deal with the shame of rejection (because that’s what it was, right?) in private. I sped off very quickly to the Riverwood Trader’s, eager to return the golden claw and leave the town behind.


	9. Then prove it

I got back to Whiterun just as the market stalls finished opening up. I was trying very hard to stop thinking about Hadvar, so of course, he would show up everywhere. I tried to distract myself by picking up every possible flower and butterfly I came across. I must have looked like a frolicking child rather than an aspiring Companion, although I did not feel girly or innocent at all. Maybe that had been it? Lying about my age? Had I played my “innocent respectable young lady” part a bit too convincingly? Was that why Hadvar had insisted on a “making sure I was safe”?

Or maybe it was just an excuse because, let’s face it, physically-imposing handsome soldiers get all the attention in such little villages, where they can pass off as worldly? Back home, no doubt he would not have thought me as ladylike as he did – as he said he did, at least! So what if he had rejected me? Had he really rejected me? He had wanted to make _me_ promise to drop everything and follow him to Frozen Solitude.

As soon as I walked through the doors of Jorrvaskr, I dropped my things on the dresser next to my bunk, and began training my one-arm skills with fury. Ria was already there with Aela, doing beautiful things with a dagger. Apparently they had expected me a day sooner, which was… a strangely sweet thing to hear. Having never had a proper family home, I’m not used to hear of people welcoming me or waiting for me. Silly things that throw me off guard. Kind of like when Hadvar would hold my hand to help me up stairs. No, not like that. No!

I smiled at them and started hitting one of the dummies as if it had stolen my coin purse – and then some more. I know it sounds silly to be so upset over a man you’ve known less than two weeks, but call me conceited if you want: I’m not used to being refused. If he had taken me right there, and then refused to greet me the morning after, I would not have cared half as much – regular man behaviour towards presumed dock harlots, as far as I’m concerned. But to kiss me and then leave because of “tomorrow”? Tomorrow we all get killed by that black dragon.

Fortunately, this weird capsized ship was beginning to feel like home. I began understanding the hall’s inside jokes, putting some coin when the brawls were on, congratulating and envying each other’s success. I won my first nickname ( _baby whelp_ ), got my first set of leather armour fitted, was sent on minor jobs.

One evening, four days after returning, Skjor entered the whelp’s dormitory and strode towards my bed.

“So, baby whelp? Your time, it seems, has come. Last week a scholar came to us. He said he knew where we could find another fragment of Wuuthrad. He seemed a fool to me, but if he's right, the honour of the Companions demands that we seek it out.”

“Honour. Right. Of course. So I’m going, yes?”

“A smart one.” Does this man ever smile? “It will be your Trial. Carry yourself with honor, and you'll become a true Companion. Farkas will be your Shield-Sibling on this venture, whelp. He'll answer any questions you have. Try not to disappoint. Or to get him killed. Meet him upstairs at first light tomorrow, as it’s quite a trek from here.”

“Right, I’ll be there, sir”

“Don’t call me that. This isn’t the legion. And what on earth is that big stone there? Been exploring tombs, baby whelp?” He pointed at the Dragonstone, which I’d forgotten about.

“Oh, that, damn, that’s the Jarl’s. His mage told me to go seek it, I need to bring it to him.”

“You should do that on the way back tomorrow. It’s no good to forget assignments from a Jarl, even if they are for _mages_.” The local distrust for magic, again. “Stendarr knows why that strange man wants a dusty stone…”

* * *

 

By the time Farkas finished telling me what _a Wuuthrad_ was and why it was worth retrieving, we were way past the last farm, energetically trekking down the plains. For such a large man carrying a massive set of heavy armour, Farkas was remarkably fast, although the length of his arms and the width of his chest gave him an air of brutality that he seemed to embrace.

Unlike Hadvar, who tried to compensate for his obvious strength with soft gestures and a mellow voice, Farkas was rough-spoken and unapologetic – but quick to hug, quicker to laugh, and almost always smiling. If something happened and it came to sprinting for our lives, his much larger legs would see him to safety sooner, but I knew he wouldn’t leave me. Heh. What a strange comfort.

“So how come you and your brother ended up Companions? Ria told me you were the youngest members in history.”

“Did she? I did not know that. My brother’s the one who likes history. You should ask him.”

“How old were you?”

“When I became a companion? 23. Ten years ago, flying by. But we’d always been at Jorrvaskr, it’s all I can remember.”

“And I thought two months as a whelp would be too much!”

“Hahahaha but you didn’t even do two weeks!”

“So where you born at Jorrvaskr? Was your mother a Companion?”

“Well, no. Mam and da’ passed away, but I can’t remember them. Then we got taken in by this group of dark mages. Jergen, he was a Companion too back then, he got rid of the necromancers and brought us home to Jorrvaskr. He got killed by a gang of spriggans a couple of years after that, but Kodlak kept us around. He’s been great to us, like a father, really.” There was a strange calmness to the way he told that story – clearly he wasn’t greatly troubled by it. Nonetheless, it was a shocking tale.

“Wow. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. Turned out well in the end, didn’t it? We could’ve ended up Thieves Guild or worse. Instead, we got a warm home, and now a honourable profession.”

His optimism was as wholesome as his laughter, to be sure. We kept walking for a few more miles in relative silence, as we were approaching giant territory and it was best not to disturb them. Eventually, we left the plains and began approaching the hills, and he decided it was safe to chat again.

“Silly question.”

“Ask away” I said, thinking it was only fair he’d ask about my childhood. I was ready to lie.

“Someone made you angry while you were doing the Jarl’s bidding. Who was it?”

I looked up at him, startled.

“Where did you get that from?”

“You came back ready to destroy our dummies. I may be the ice-brain twin, but I know rage. So this person…”

“Man. From Riverwood.”

“Is he why you’re in Skyrim?”

“Oh, no. I met him here.”

“What happened? And yes, I know I’m being nosy.”

“Well, so long as you know…he did nothing – it was more about he wouldn’t do. He was full of sweet words and gentlemanly gestures, but when it had to count for something, nothing. One day he’s full of compliments over my sword skills, the other one he’s upset or scared or I don’t-know-what that I joined to Companions, worried about who’ll _protect_ me. I got angry. It’s no big deal.” It felt good to vent, even if in the vaguest terms possible.

“Sounds like the _boy_ can’t make up his mind. And he’s jealous.”

Farkas looked around, scratching around. Neither the choice of words nor the inflection went unnoticed.

“You can say that, yes.”

“But you’re thinking about him.”

“I’m not about to leave and run off with him.”

“Good. Because then you’d be wasting our time with this whole Trial, but you don’t look like the type. You’re still a whelp, and a foreign one too, nobody knows much about you. We all want to know what kind of warrior you are. The way I see it, what you say doesn’t matter, it’s what you do that counts. Like with that boy: if he values you, he must prove it. If you’re too much for that boy, then prove it, and if you’re strong enough to get a spot with the Companions, then prove it and get the fragment of Wuuthrad.”

I briefly wondered how long he had prepared that speech, or at least part of it. Then I realised he had hit two key points there: first, Hadvar clearly had unresolved issues with the idea of women protecting themselves – and had a strong tendency towards “all-or-nothing” deals; and second, I’d grossly misused my opportunity with him at making a new identity. Set on painting myself as a sweet noble girl in unfortunate circumstances, I had been unable to play my part convincingly as well. Not a mistake I’ll make again.

“Farkas?”

“Yes, little whelp?”

“Next time someone calls you ice-brain, I’ll hold them down while you hit them. And don’t you dare believe them.”

He smiled.

“Fair dos, little whelp. Now, we’re less than half an hour away, you may want to have your shield ready.”

* * *

 

_Sira’s actions included three shames. Alivar had been the first, but she had excused it as revenge for her broken heart._

_What had happened to Restita, on the other hand, was harder to excuse. A fellow apprentice at the seamstress’ workshop, Restita was clearly soon to be made her superior – partly thanks to her liaison with a local married aristocrat, who began commissioning extravagant suits through her. Sira felt more deserving of any promotion and needed the extra money more._

_The opportunity to bring her down presented itself without even looking for it: as she measured a new gown for that man’s wife, Sira casually complimented her exquisite perfume – and then mentioned how Restita’s new “patron” had just bought her a whole bottle. Some nights, Sira still woke up drenched in cold sweat, wondering if Restita realised who sold her out before the hired thugs shoved her into the ocean._

* * *

I came to Skyrim looking for a new life. Granted, the original plan for that burned alongside Helgen – but I was still getting a chance at a clean slate. Once inside the Cairn, I set out to prove it all. I slayed each one of my shames with each draugr I ripped apart, determined for once to prove myself to be whatever it is I wanted to be .

Rather than joking about feats of bravado, I became one, jumping first on every room, sneaking up on every enemy we encountered. Instead of pretending to be a trustworthy partner, after I locked myself in that cage, I stood my ground, looked at the werewolf defending me in the eye, and sent a healing spell his way. I proved my agility in front of a frostbite spider and my ruthlessness with all the Silver Hands we slayed.

At last, we arrived at the deepest chamber to pick up the fragment. The strange whisperings from Bleak Falls Barrow returned. It felt wrong to simply grab the fragment and leave. Farkas noticed my reluctance and nodded, saying I deserved the honor. I staggered up the stairs towards the altar, taking the piece almost as an afterthought – the wall right behind was calling me. The blinding blue light engulfed me once again, and I woke up inside a tent.

That was really nice of Farkas, to get me out and set up a tent while I regained consciousness. Embarrassing, too.

“Ah, you’re awake at last. Feeling up to the trip back home?” He said, nonchalantly.

“Yes. But what happened? The lights... how come they didn’t affect you?”

“It’s not me they trapped.”

“They trapped me?”

“I think… I don’t know. You suddenly went into this trance, tripped on your way to that wall”

“Yeah, that I remember. It’s the whispers from Bleak Falls, it was the same all over again.”

“What whispers? This had happened to you before? Are you serious? Anyway, you got all stuck in front of the wall and these blue lights came out the carvings, and into you somehow… I’m not sure what I saw, really.”

“It had happened once, when I was getting that stone for the Jarl’s mage. It doesn’t matter, really, maybe fatigue?”

“Sure, baby whelp. Fatigue. We all have our secrets, I guess.” What secret was mine though? That I faint in front of walls?

“Well, I didn’t want to bring this up, but you’re a werewolf. What’s up with that? Anyone else knows? Is it a Companions thing?”

“No. But it’s a Circle thing. It is a secret to everyone, though.” I’d heard about the Circle already, the high-ranking members who acted as Kodlak’s personal advisors.

“Well, I won’t tell anyone. Explains the wolfish grin.”

He chuckled.

“Thanks. For healing me, too. Silver swords are a problem. We should get back to Whiterun – we’ll have something nice to celebrate you, you’ll see.” He seemed excited over it – clearly much warmer than his brother.

Stamina restored and all, we basically jogged all the way back to the city. I could see Farkas was happy that I had passed the test – or perhaps just relieved that I wasn’t horrified at his lycanthropy. We sped past the gates and sprinted all the way up to the Gildergreen. Panting, I stopped.

“Ok, you win! Let me breathe, please. I still need to drop the Farengar’s stone at Dragonsreach first.”

“Ha! I keep telling Athis, there’s more to speed than toothpicks and leather smallclothes. You think it will take long? I’ll wait here, if you want.”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll just hand it over and collect my gold. Farengar’s not a chatty type.”

There, another unfulfilled promise. I ended up making Farkas wait way more that I should’ve – although it was completely not my fault. I was just done pocketing my money when the jarl’s very own housecarl, a springy looking Dunmer called Irileth, barged into Farengar’s studio with news of a dragon.

I had no chance to escape, say no, or stop by some potions. It was decided – under a rather ridiculous reasoning, if you ask me – that I was the closest thing to a dragon expert the city had. I was promised the city’s gratitude, for which I cared little. I wanted to run to Riverwood and ask Hadvar to take me with him anywhere, so long as I’d be safe from the monster perched atop the Western Watchtower.

I barely had time to register Farkas’s strange expression as he saw me ran down the stairs into the Plains District. I could feel all eyes on me, the only one in the party not wearing Whiterun’s uniform. I would never live out the shame of running away, I realised. I would lose the respect of the Companions and the market folk and everyone. Was this pride worth dying for? Was this what dying with honour was supposed to mean?


	10. The roar inside my chest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This one has a couple of smutty paragraphs in the middle. I had never really written any smut before, for starters, and it's not the gentle/romantic/wish fulfillment kind. It's rushed and awkward, and up to a certain point it was meant to be so - so it's not just that my smutty crafting is faulty ;)

I wasn’t the only one to arrive at the Watchtower panting and shaking with fear. The tension could be sliced with a knife – we were all repressing whimpers of anguish, knowing fully well the first one to give in to panic would cause everybody else to flee. The half-broken tower’s roof was ablaze, and as I sped up inside along two other guards, ready to start showering it with arrows, I smelled Helgen all over again.

I had to be strong. Someone would panic and allow everyone else to do the same, but it would not be me. Below the tower, Irileth and the other guards stood ready to slice the evil thing to pieces. It felt like an eternity before the dragon landed right in front of my window and stared at me. The guards beside me ducked for cover, but I remained frozen, scarcely 3 feet away from its jaws. I lost my aim and simply let the arrow loose, which landed inside its mouth.

The dragon shrieked so loudly that it sent me tumbling backwards. As far as I’m concerned, I fainted right there, and everything afterwards was a collective hallucination I had no part in.  

The dragon’s shriek had been a dare,  I knew it¸  so I ran down the stairs and went to meet it. Fire rained briefly over the tower again, just as I stood behind the dragon ready to meet its challenge. 

Alivar had taught me to focus on my internal fire and shoot it from my hand. I could not answer fire with fire, but I could think of Ice. Cold blades, like the one I’d stuck on his back. Cold like Skyrim’s crypts and Emilia’s hands when they found her mauled body.

“Oy! Dragon! Come kill  me! ” The dragon turned around and met a blast of ice from my hands. It must’ve only lasted half a minute, but it was enough to make it pause. Bloodlust took over, so I unsheathed my swords and began to cut all over its throat and neck – where the scales are softer, it seems. I HAD to kill it, to keep cutting, to make sure it died, to prove to Hadvar I didn’t need him, to meet the dare. I was so out of my head, I didn’t notice the dragon had stopped moving, and thought it was still attacking me when it really was setting itself ablaze.

The feeling I had when I stared at its empty skeleton was… like the strongest, most violent orgasm of my life.  Then the lights emerged from it and surrounded me, and I stopped caring about all the witnesses thinking I was craven – I cried. I didn’t weep quietly, the way nice girls do when they miss someone: I shrieked and threw a tantrum, rocking myself on the ground and trying to tear my own hair out. Something inside my chest was trying to kill me, or everyone else, and I had to kill something that was inside me.

Next thing I noticed, Irileth’s holding me down while a guard was throwing water or potions or ale on my armour. They helped me up and began staring at me, with a mix of awe and fear.

“I can’t believe it! You are Dragonborn!” said one of the guards.

“What’s that?”

“In the oldest tales, back when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power… like you just did”

Was he mocking me? Or was this a real nord superstition?

“What are you talking about? I’d never heard of that tale” pitched in another guard.

“How come you’ve never heard of it? Talos, I mean, Tiber Septim, he was Dragonborn too” Ok, now they’re arguing about their legend? I felt too angry to deal with this.

“But how can she be Dragonborn? She’s not even from here.” Wait, someone else saying I can’t do something? 

“What is it to you what I am?  FUS !” I didn’t even realize I had roared – just like the dragon had, really – but at least they fell quiet. I also seemed to have confirmed their suspicion, so they went back to staring at me. My anger was suddenly replaced by a strong desire to fly away. Irileth was just breaking the silence when the skies went dark and a thunderous chant was heard. ( DOVAAKIN ? Was that what it said?).

The sky talking to me, that was the last straw. I quickly put away my swords, and began running east. I think at first I truly meant to go report to the Jarl, or at least to Farengar. I vaguely remembered Farkas, waiting for me at Dragonsreach gates. I thought of Aela’s smirk of disbelief if I came back to Jorrvaskr saying I had been held up by a dragon. My feet decided not to turn north at the stables and by the time I was crossing Pellagia Farm, I knew I was headed for Riverwood.

I’d lost track of the date, time, and my appearance when I banged on Alvor’s window.

“Sira! What are you doing here at this hour?” Was it late, then? I could see it was dark. “Are you allright? You look… a lot like the first time we saw you.”

“Is Hadvar still here? I need to see him.”

“Yes, he’s downstairs, but he’s sleeping already. He has to leave rather early tomorrow. Maybe you want to wash up and sleep too?”

“No. I must speak to Hadvar. I’m sorry. It’s urgent.” I knew I was being rude and making no sense, but I was past caring. Clearly I was also being loud, because right then Hadvar appeared, looking startled. I ran to hug him.

“What’s wrong, my girl? What happened to you?”

My girl  didn’t sound like rejection. The gamble was on.

“Come with me.” I took his hand and led him outside, up the river, until I was sure there were no humans around. He followed me quietly, with only the occasional wince of pain. As soon as I found an appropriately secluded spot, I pushed him against a tree, jumped at his lips and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Woah, Sira, wait. What’s gotten into you?” He said, gently holding my face.

“You said you wanted a tomorrow. I’ll give you tomorrow and the day after that, and anything else you want, but you ought to give me a now first. Do you understand?”

“Does that mean you’re coming to Solitude with me? Truly?”

Ugh, why couldn’t he  understand ?

“I’ll go anywhere with you, alright? As long as it’s far away from here.”

I was done talking, so I resumed the kissing. The height difference seemed much smaller, all of a sudden, giving me easy reach to nibble his ears. He responded this time, nervously at first, but after just a few seconds, his hands found a comfortable spot around my hips. He began fumbling with my armour’s back straps, seeking to loosen them. Fortunately for me, he was wearing rather plain clothes. His shirt was not even in the way, and his trousers fell almost of their own accord while I moved my lips down his jawline, brushing my teeth against his collarbone.

It was all too clear he was enjoying it. He could not dare reject me now. The dragon would blast him to pieces if he tried.

Meanwhile, my leather cuirass was lying on the grass, and his hands were eagerly exploring under my tunic. I was ready to throw him on the ground, but I remembered there was something wrong with his leg, so instead I began pulling him down by the hips. He got the message, and got slowly on his knees while trying to push me down by the elbows.

Something was wrong with my right arm, clearly, because I winced loudly when his fingers pressed on it. He tried apologizing, but I stifled his sweet sorries with deeper kisses and tried to push him against the grass.

“No, girl, wait. You’re hurt! Why are you hurt?”

“It’s fine, it’s nothing.”

Moonlight wasn’t enough for him to notice my cuts from the Cairn and the blood all over my tunic. I pushed him back, sat on top of him, and began working his chest. I felt his erection throbbing, moist tip and all, against the lower edges of my stomach. He caressed my thighs and shuddered in pleasure while I nibbled on his nipples.

“You have the most beautiful arms I’ve ever seen in a man.” I whispered, just as his hands began to migrate from my outer thighs to my crotch. 

He gave me a tense grin, just as he shifted himself up just enough to enter me easily. I could tell from the way his chest thumped under me that we had little time left. Rejection or not, he’d been wishing for this as much as I had.

And I had no intention of delaying any longer. It was useless, despite our misplaced elbows, my brusque teeth, or his grunts. I kept thrusting, and he seemed happy enough to let me control the situation. 

As he came, his eyes went round, making him look borderline scared. Or maybe he could hear the enormous wing flapping inside me? I barely acknowledged his climax, and kept rocking him until my sweet spot was finally rubbed. After my own pleasure was over, I collapsed on top of him.

At last, it was over. I was no longer rejected. I’d won.

And he  cradled  me. He turned towards me and  held me and gave me a delicate, tender  peck  on the tip of my nose.

“My sweet lady. You are amazing”

You gotta be fucking kidding me. He still thinks me sweet? Was this  romantic  for him?

I didn’t have enough breath to reply, so we just lied on the grass, legs still entangled, his breath tickling my neck, for what seemed like an eternity. His scent and his warmth seemed to numb the roaring monster within me, who seemed ready for a nap at last. Or was I the one falling asleep? 

Was I the monster?

“I’m so glad you’re coming with me, Sira. I couldn’t sleep just thinking about everything that could happen to you, fending for yourself in Whiterun.”

What?

“You don’t think I could?”

“No, that’s not what I meant… I’d rather keep you by my side, that’s all.”

“Greedy, aren’t we?” I smirked.

“I can’t help it. You’re just so  wild ...” He took a deep breath, inhaling my hair. Something jerked inside him, and he slid away from me.

“Sira, why do you smell like Helgen?” If he had sounded sappy three seconds ago, his voice now trembled.

“Oh, there was a dragon attack at the Western Watchtower.”

He jumped back to his feet.

“What?! And you’re telling me now?” He quickly grabbed his clothes and splashed some water to his face. “But what happened to the city? Get up! We must raise the alarm! We’ll have to evacuate Riverwood, Sira!” He threw my tunic and armour at me. “How could you not tell my uncle immediately?”

I threw my arms in the air and groaned, before slowly getting up and covering myself.

“Sira! We must…”

“We must do nothing, Hadvar. It’s fine. Calm down.”

“But these dragons…”

“The dragon is gone. Come here, baby.”

I held him and pushed his head towards my chest, trying to come up with an orderly story. An arrow flew by from the other side of the river and stuck itself on a nearby tree, at a visible (but safe) distance from us.

Hadvar immediately pushed himself in front of me and raised his fists. I recognised the arrow’s black fletching as one of Aela’s practice arrows and grabbed his arm, slightly annoyed at his protective gesture. I had just killed a dragon, after all – and if Aela had wanted him dead, his fist would be useless.

“It’s fine. Nobody’s attacking.” I told him.  Aela’s silhouette appeared from the other side of the river, and jumped over to us with three well placed strides.

“Hate to interrupt a passionate couple, but I need to escort my Shield-Sister towards a big platter of boiled cream tarts” Hearing her call me that stung, and she knew it.

“How did you find me?”

“They call me The Huntress for a reason. And let’s face it, the rumour trail you’ve left behind was very easy to track.” Suddenly, her usual smile turned serious. “What’s this about Solitude I hear?”

Nice way to let me know how long you’ve been eavesdropping, eh?

“I… The guards wouldn’t leave me alone! They kept going about ancient legends, asking me to shout… I just had to fly away. So I’m leaving.”

“So you’re running, then? You’re taking off to Solitude with some farmboy and leaving your new Shield-Siblings behind, then?”

“Farmboy? I’m a member of the Imperial Legion!” I didn’t really care for Hadvar’s defense of his own strength. 

“Aela, you don’t understand! The smell of charred flesh, the smoke, the corpses… Maybe I lost myself in them? And everyone kept talking about some Dragonborn, but the dragon was inside me, but it was dead – only it was also trying to kill me. I can’t describe...” I began.

“You’re right. I don’t understand how bad it was, because I wasn’t there to fight that dragon. But you did, Sira. And you killed it!” She took a deep breath, trying to make herself sound more reassuring. 

“I do know bloodlust, and I remember my first major battle – so I know what it’s like to come back from it feeling like there’s not enough life to grasp around you. It’s scary to find yourself so fearsome, but you’re fearsome and can handle it. Just stay.”

“And what should I do about that Dragonborn business?”

“Well, that, I don’t know. Is it true, though? Did you really eat the dragon’s soul and began shouting in their language?”

“Eating is very descriptive word, but… yes. Something off the dragon came inside me, and I… may have shouted. Who told you?”

“Oh, never underestimate the guards’ fondness for gossip. By the time Farkas arrived with news that he’d seen you being led outside by Irileth and a group of soldiers, Skjor had already heard news of the dragon by one of the palace guards. We thought it was just a rumour or a Stormcloak trap, so we began getting ready for battle, but then we saw the fire and the Greybeards call. As I left, word was that you’ll be made Thane and sent over to High Hrothgar.” Greybeards? The chanting from the sky? Confusing enough that I didn’t notice Hadvar’s hand had slipped out from around my waist. He had taken a step away from me.

“Are you two mad? Is this a joke?” he asked.

“Do I look like I’m bloody joking?” I replied, with the angry dragon thumping once again.

“You said there was a dragon attack. You didn’t say you killed it and then began shouting… Do you realise what this means? Shouting is how Ulfric killed the High King!”

“And I’ll shout  you  to death as well if you don’t quit looking at me like I’m some monster!”

“What!?” He took another stepped back, scared. For Oblivion’s sake,  I was surprised at the death threat I had just uttered. That wasn’t me. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I am not a monster.”

Gods, please make sure he doesn’t think me one.

“Of course, my sweet Imperial. Not a monster, no. It’s just a lot to process.” He tried bringing himself closer, but this time I jerked him away. I rolled my eyes. 

“Really? I had no idea!” 

“Oh, my sweet, sweet girl. I’m really sorry. I’ll make it up to you. We’ll go to Solitude tomorrow, we’ll start over, OK?” He was delicately holding my hand as if it were made from glass, his voice sweeter than honey. “Or if you’d rather be sure… we can go to Riften first, and then make for Castle Dour.” Aela’s smirk grew to epic proportions. She seemed to be about to burst with laughter.

“Stop that, Aela. He’s no farmboy, he’s a soldier. I don’t want to be baby whelp anymore, ok?”

“So we’re going home then, dragon whelp?”

“Sure, may as well, before fatigue really sinks in.” I turned to Hadvar and gave him a quick kiss in the lips. “I’ll see you up there in a month or two, maybe. Don’t be bored on my account.” Suddenly stone-faced, he barely reacted. I dusted myself off and headed down the road by Aela’s side. Dawn seemed to be approaching, and I found I couldn’t walk very quickly anymore. Furthermore, Aela kept giving me odd side glances.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I’m trying to decide whether you’re the most heartless woman in the Hold, or if you really are such a naïve Imperial.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Have you ever been to Riften?”

“No. Never. Why? Is that near High Hrothor and the Grey men?”

“ It’s  Hrothgar , and not really. So you have no idea what’s in there?”

“The Thieves Guild, right?”

“Yes. The Thieves Guild. Among others. It’s supposed to be quite the fascinating city.”

“Aela?”

“Hmph?”

“I’m not monster, right? Because there’s a monster in my chest, and it wants to kill us all. Am I monster?”

“No, you’re the bloody hero of a lot of legends. Just put a helmet on once we approach the city.”


	11. Guidance is for the already wise

“So have you thought of your next step?” Kodlak asked. We were having breakfast on his studio, a week after the dragon attack.

“Not quite. I’ve thought of like a dozen steps, really, but I have no idea which one should be next.”

“Don’t you think it should be heading for High Hrothgar?”

“Well, yes, that’s definitely coming soon. Apparently it’s a great honour and I shouldn’t keep them waiting, but I just don’t feel ready for it yet.”

“Would you like a Shield-Sibling to accompany you?”

“No, it’s not that. I know the 7000 steps are dangerous and all, but I wouldn’t want to inconvenience them if they’re busy doing paid jobs. Either way, I have Lydia now, I suppose she could come with me. That’s not what worries me.”

“Then what else do you need to be ready? You need to speak to the Greybeards if you want any hope to confirm whether you are Dragonborn – and only from that, you can decide what to do next.”

“I know! And that’s why I have all these ideas on my head, of skills to train and improve, but I don’t really know what will be asked for me… but I can’t just show up at a monastery like this. Not when I still can’t control myself!”

“Ah, there it is. Do you still feel the dragon inside, bothering you?”

“All the time. It wants to fly, it wants to roar, it wants to set the world on fire. I’m constantly biting my own tongue so I don’t let it speak for me.” He raised an eyebrow at that. “Earlier today, Ria and Torvar were arguing about something – axes versus hammers, I think. Ria tried to ask my opinion over it, and I had to choke myself with some bread to avoid telling her the dragon does not care about the weapons of sheep, or something equally uncalled for.”

“So it gives you a short temper, then.”

“Yes, partly, all the time – but then there are times in which I can feel it is literally trying to speak through me. It’s in there, inside me, surrounded by me, but it wants out.”

“Interesting. I also saw you resumed your sprints around the city?”

“I did, this morning. I’ll never be able to outrun a real dragon, but I’ll be able to do a decent charge soon.”

“And the guards like to watch you and cheer at you.”

I giggled at the thought. “Yes, there is that. I won’t lie, I don’t hate the attention. I grew up trading by the docks, I never thought I’d find myself Thane of anything. It’s vain, I know, but there are worse things to be proud of.”

“Are you really vain, child? Or is the dragon just fiercely proud?”

“There’s at least A DOZEN things the dragon is, all right? How would you know anyway?” I blushed, since I noticed I had raised my voice again. “I’m sorry. That was out of turn. I’ve always been vain, and I never liked slights, I guess. Aela says I should take slights as a challenge.”

“Interesting way to put it. So you’ve been asking her for advice as well?” I felt slight disappointment in his voice, but why?

“Well, we talked a lot the other night – that of the attack. She has an interesting outlook on things.” I stopped to stare at him. “Farkas said you’ve always been here to counsel him, as if he were your own son.”

“That was kind of him to say.” There! That glimpse to his eyes. This is how he looks when he’s flattered. I made my best effort to memorize that expression as I nibbled on another slice of eidar cheese.

“He is a kind man, in general.”

“That he is. He is often slighted as well.”

“I know, for being stupid. I can see why – too many people seem to think book-smarts is the only valid way of being smart.”

“Everyone here has different talents and carries different burdens. Yours may be a bit more monstrous, but always keep in mind you’re not alone. You can learn a lot from everyone here, even from the ones who don’t look like they want to teach you anything.”

I quickly caught the reference. A lither version of his twin, Vilkas had the same elegance of movement than Hadvar, but none of the gentleness. He was known to be a great reader and an immensely clever man, but he scowled twice every time Farkas chuckled and was quick to outbursts of rage – at least whenever I was present.

“If you mean Vilkas, I don’t think it’s a matter of looks. Some people are just not meant to get along.” I’d been in Jorrvaskr less than two weeks total, and we’d already clashed over sitting space by the library twice. He’d also been heard mocking my sprints and jump as “a foolish way to reach Thanehood”, to which I’d replied that it was still proving much better than his method of wanking, scowling, and acting as if his shit didn’t stink. That was followed by an overly brutal session of two-handed weapon training, which, if it hadn’t involved wooden greatswords, would’ve left him sterile and me dead.

“Remember what you told me about using a frostbite spell against that dragon?”

“That it made no sense to fight fire with fire?”

“Exactly. You fight fire with ice, but what if you’d wanted to ally yourself with the fire? Would you have shot ice at it then?”

“Is this supposed to be a riddle? Because I know Companions are not supposed to use magic.”

“It is no riddle. Merely an old man’s ramblings. Either way, it’s probably time to go back to train. I have to negotiate a contract with an… important family, who has lost an heirloom in Valtheim Towers. It’s halfway to Ivarstead, so I was thinking you and a Shield Sibling could take care of that, and then continue onto High Hrothgar.”

“Ah, I see. You’re sending me with Vilkas to see the Greybeards. Right. With all due respect, sir, I’m an Imperial. We invented diplomacy and insinuation.”

“And you made a great service to leaders and politicians everywhere. I’ll see you soon, Sira.”


	12. Seven Thousand Sword Strikes

Valtheim Towers was half a day’s north east of Whiterun, and it was turning out to be a very tense trek. We had not even reached the end of the farmlands when the exasperating quietness got the better of me.

“Well, I blame your brother for this” I said. “Clearly he’s punishing me for that evening where I kept him waiting outside Dragonsreach, or punishing you for taking his sweet roll, and that’s why he suggested this experiment to Kodlak.”

“Oh, so I’m punishment, now? Is the Dragonborn displeased she’s being sent on a job with the common rabble?”

“Vilkas, if you were the common sort of rabble, you would not be half as unpleasant.”

“Yes, it must be a pity I’m not some farmboy you can wrap around your dragon-slaying finger.” Damn you, Aela. Of all people, you had to tell him about the _Riverwood_ _Incident_?

“Aren’t you? My bad. There’s only one way to verify, though.” I extended my right pinky towards him. “Come on, get wrapped. Oh, you can’t. Too stiff, that pole up your arse. Bummer.”

“And she’s funny, too! Not content with saving the city, monopolizing Kodlak’s attention, and being more important than everybody else, now the mighty Dragonborn delights the crowds with her refined wit!”

“Oy, what’s your problem? I cheated _you_ out of _your_ _dragon_ or what? Who’s being the entitled little tramp?” No, Sira, you promised you wouldn’t fight fire with fire. And for fuck’s sake, keep the docks out of your speech. 

Too late. We were no longer walking, just standing in front of each other. 

“You have some nerve, girl! You think I care about the damn dragons? For all I care, you can throw yourself off from the Throat of the World, you and your damn dragons. Get your housecarl to protect you. What makes you think we all owe you shit for accidentally slaying a dragon?”

“I NEVER ASKED FOR SHIT! I didn’t ask to be called dragonborn, and I sure as hell didn’t as for an escort on this trip. But you, you didn’t like me from the instant I entered the mead hall looking for Kodlak. We just don’t like each other, own it! I don’t care if you turn back right now, you explain it to Kodlak, I don’t give a fuck!”

“Oh, so now I have to go my Harbinger and mentor to tell him I refused his command? Unlike you, little girl, I have some respect for duty.”

“Then prove it. Or not, I don’t care. As long as  _ you _ don’t blame  _ me _ for your inability to follow your mentor’s advice.”

He flinched. It lasted 3 seconds at most, but his eyebrows raised themselves in surprise. I was onto something. What advice wasn’t he following? I kept staring. Either he was going to hit me or he was going to apologize.

“Of course, Sira. We should keep moving. Kodlak will worry if we don’t return on time.” 

He sounded legitimately contrite, at least. I broke away from the staring contest and resumed walking.

“Marvellous. Let’s go, then.” I waited a while before extending a nirnroot branch. “It’s really admirable, the way you and your brother always rely on him. And each other. For what is worth, I’m jealous.”

“Are you an only child?”

“Yes. I know, it shows.”

“I wasn’t going to mock you over it. My brother told me you saw him  _ transform. _ ”

“I promised not to talk about it.”

“Well, I’ll talk then. The beast blood… it makes everything more intense. Sometimes I’m too intense in my anger” For someone so eloquent, he seemed to be having great trouble choosing words. “Especially now we promised Kodlak not to transform. It builds up and then you explode. So there.”

“Farkas didn’t mention anything about repressing inner monsters. Then again, he’s an adorable puppy.” At last, I knew what it was that we were supposed to get from each other – but only if I cared enough to share back, and I didn’t.

“My brother… has his own way of dealing with things. Either way, it wasn’t honourable to mistreat you over something you had no control over.”

“Right. Now we can just despise each other over your war paint and my annoying giggles _.  _ We’re making progress, Kodlak will be proud.” As far as a mutual apology, this was as good as it’s going to get.

“Excellent. At this rate, we’ll have wiped out the Thieves Guild by the time we have to exchange Saturalia presents.” When not angry, his voice came out deep and velvety.

“Challenge accepted. I’ll have Lydia hand you a list of which gems match my eyes better.”

“Excellent. I’ll have it engraved in silver and shaped like a decapitated angry wolf.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t look like a puppy! You can’t decapitate a puppy, that’s evil.”

“Now I don’t know if we’re still arguing, joking, or threatening my brother. Either way, time to quiet down, Valtheim towers is just around there” he pointed down the road. 

We stayed quiet for a while, counting sounds. I rested my hands on each hilts, examining the impressive, but deadly-looking, open stone bridge that connected each tower. After a couple of minutes, I had managed to approach enough to hear their voices.

“Meatheads have set up a toll booth!” I whispered. “All the better. We can just pay them and not bother with ranged attacks.”

“I’m not letting them take my money.” He replied, insulted.

“Then take it back once we’re done.” I swear, these lads sometimes need to have everything spelled out.

We made short work of the toll inspectors. Pretending to pay allowed us to get close enough for them to die without making much noise – and more time to stalk how many more would be inside. It seemed like there were only four of them, one of them clearly the chief.

The task ahead of us was practically solving itself, which I should know by now, is never a good omen. The necklace we were supposed to retrieve was not around, so we would need to cross into the inner tower and face that horrid bridge. We didn’t know how many bandits would be on the other side, and we had to figure out the best way to cross it – the bridge was barely narrow enough to let one person pass, and there was at least a 40 feet free fall between the bridge and… the rocks of a waterfall. 

“The important thing is to avoid any melee on the bridge.” I said.

“I’m pretty sure the bandits will want to avoid it as well. Most likely, they’ll try to push us out just at the end of the bridge. I say we charge as quickly as possible, so we won’t give them any time to throw anything at us.”

“Right. I don’t think they’d be able to hit us with much force, not unless they have a crossbow.” I’d had a crossbow once. “Which is unlikely.”

“Very well, whelp. I’m willing to risk it.” 

The truth is, I was not. I don’t see things properly from a certain distance, and mysterious blurs can be terrifying.

“Then lead the way.” I braced myself to avoid looking down, focusing my attention on reaching the small arch right at the middle of the bridge. Just one half, then the other, then safety. Vilkas ran. I ran behind him. He was hit by an ebony arrow, straight on the chest. Fuck, they’d seen us and they had a crossbow. Even despite the distance, the force of the hit was enough to make him stumble – although he did not seem to be bleeding. Fortunately, he landed squarely on his ass, in the middle of the bridge,  _ frozen _ .

An axe-wielding brute came through the door, straight at us. I readied my swords, but he was already too close to us, the bridge too narrow, and Vilkas still unable to get up.

“You’ll be easier to rob when you’re dead!” the bandit screamed.

I crouched to better grab Vilkas. “Oh, don’t you dare!  **_FUS!_ ** ” The bandit was pushed off the bridge, his bones loudly cracking when he hit the rocks below. Disgusting. I pulled Vilkas up to our tower as quickly as I could. He began to unfreeze a couple of feet before we reached safe cover.

“Bastards have themselves an enchanted crossbow! I’m calling dibs on it.” I screamed, as I looked for barrels to secure the door. I had no idea how long it would take him to finish unfreezing – just that large bodies usually have a harder time with it.

“You can have it, Sira. Thank you.”

“For what? Not letting you die? You must really think me a heartless harpy.” 

“I’m just trying to be polite here.”

“It was nothing. They would’ve never believed me it wasn’t on purpose. You feeling better? That barricade won’t hold much longer and I’m counting three different voices on the other side of the bridge.”

“Can you try and shoot one of them while I finish catching my breath?”

“I can, but I won’t promise much. My long distance sight is abysmal. Here, have some juice. I made it myself.” I handed him one of my magic resistance potions.

“What is this?”

“You don’t want to know. If you begin to grow donkey ears or get diarrhea, take the complaints to Athis. His recipe.”

We set up camp on a clearance right before the river’s main crossing. Vilkas quickly busied himself setting a fire and skinning two rabbits, while I sat down to clean up our weapons. We had mostly stayed silent after clearing the tower, still too wary of each other to attempt any more small talk, but free of hostilities. Still, it seemed like it’d be quite a boring evening. Maybe this is what books are supposed to be for.

My new crossbow had a large soul gem and seemed to have plenty of charges left. I also managed to get decently-fitting leather armour off the crossbow’s now-deceased owner. After I was done cleaning everything else, I studied my new possessions, examining every possible sign of wear or extra perk they could have. After a few minutes, I caught Vilkas studying me.

“Do I have mud on my face?” I asked. After so long without talking, my voice took on a weird low register. It may have sounded more insolent than I meant. 

“That thing you did at the bridge, where did you learn it?”

“What thing? The pushing thing?”

“Yes, the pushing thing. Skjor said you had some learning of magic, but I was expecting a healing spell, maybe throw some fireballs. I had never seen that.”

“Oh, I can throw fireballs. But yeah, the pushing thing’s different. Nobody taught me that. I didn’t learn it. It just came out. Only the second time it has, too.” 

“Right. The day you killed that dragon, right?”

“Yup. The famous shout that’s the reason for this whole trip. I think.” I lowered my eyes, not wanting to engage in another shouting match.

“Well, we should be arriving in Ivarstead tomorrow, it’s just two hours from here at most. From there we can just begin the ascent straight away. How long do you think you’ll talk to the Greybeards?”

“I don’t know, Vilkas”

“With some haste, we can be back in the town for supper and stay at the inn before heading back in the early morning.”

“Ok, so then that’s the plan.”

“It’s a worthless plan if we don’t know how long we’ll be up there.”

“Right, sorry about that.” The dragon was not enjoying the questions, but I was hoping to keep the truce as much as possible.

“That’s all? Sorry?”

“Unfortunately, it is.” I sighed, summoning the strength not to shoot him. 

“Divines, you really have no idea what is it you’re doing there, don’t you?”

“Nope, not in the slightest. For all I know, my shouting is bad for their business and they want to throw me off their cliff. Or they’ll decide I have to stay there and learn whatever mystic knowledge they specialise in. I don’t know. I’m an outlander, I know next to nothing about nord myths or dragons.”

“Then why are you bothering at all?” Because whatever it is that a Dragonborn is, it’s important enough that it got me a Thanehood and a housecarl. That won’t be considered an acceptable answer though. “If Nord myth is nothing to you and nobody’s actively forcing you, I mean.”

“Because… Helgen was awful. And it’s clear that if anyone knows how to avoid another Helgen, it’s them. It’s likely, I think, I  _ hope _ , that once we’re up there they’ll realise it’s a mistake, that there’s other Dragonborn out there who can go around hunting dragons for them. Then I won’t have to approach another one ever again. But until we know, I can’t run, can I? Not if I want to sleep at night. I must.”

“Aye, you must. Well, I don’t think they’ll throw you off a cliff.”

“Neither do I – they sound like pacifists, at least. If they were to want to keep me from leaving, though…”

“I won’t let them. You’re my shield-sister, and I would never be able to convince Aela it wasn’t on purpose.”


	13. We hunt, we dance, we make our fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end of Act I of Sira's story. The holidays are definitely helping me draft massive chunks of Acts 2&3, coming 2016 ;)  
> I just wanted to wish all the readers who have kudo'ed or messaged me a happy new year, I hope your holidays have been a blast, whichever way you chose to celebrate (where I live, it's turkey and beach time).

* * *

 

“Ah, there she is, my favourite drinking buddy.” It was barely 5 PM when I walked back into Jorrvaskr with Vilkas – too early for such a greeting from anyone except Torvar.

“He means you, I presume? He knows you for longer.” I asked my dusty companion.

“He does, and that’s why we know he doesn’t mean me. You can put all that loot you compulsively took to good use now. Well, to _some_ use.” Without so much as a nod in Torvar’s direction, Vilkas took off to the library.

“Ah, Torvar! Good to see you too! You’ll have to give me a few minutes while I drop stuff off, first. Seen Aela, per chance?”

“The lady Aela does not fancy drinking with the whelps. I’ll wait here so you can tell me about all your adventures at the Mare!”

“Sure, just don’t let her hear you call her Lady Aela”

“Do I look like I want to cut my own life short, dragon whelp?” He joked, as he followed me down the stairs.

Judging from his slurring, it wasn’t too much of a gamble to simply delay my “freshening up” until he would simply pass out. It’s not that I dislike Torvar – he’s definitely nicer, if sleazier than Njada, even if not as interesting as Athis, but a combination of fatigue, anxiety, and impatience at my own shadow had chased me all the way back from Ivarstead. I needed solo time.

We all lose these gambles every once in a while. Instead of continuing to drink and passing out on the table, as he was supposed to, he diligently waited for me, refusing to finish the bottle of ale he’d already opened until I was ready, and even convincing Aela to join us. Once I heard her signs of impatience, I abruptly stopped stalling – I could really use a chat with her, Torvar’s lame jokes be damned.

The Bannered Mare had few empty tables, as was expected for any evening. Fortunately for us, Torvar quickly abandoned us in order to prove his worth against Uthgerd, who seemed about to remain unbroken for yet another night. Between their loud brawl, everyone’s fear of Aela, and the fact that everyone has their own things to talk about, we had all the visible privacy we needed.

“Very well, dragon whelp.  You just made me endure Torvar for almost an hour, waiting considered. Make it worth it and tell me everything.”

“Everything-everything? Now, aren’t we ambitious?”

“Everything important. I don’t need to hear the exact count for how many wildflowers you plucked on each section of the trip.”

“Fulfilling the contract was easy enough, we only came close to dying once each. I got a kickass enchanted bow off one of the bandits, still haven’t decided if I want to sell it or keep it.”

“Sell it, kid. Enchanted gear wears off and ends up losing its value, and you can’t do anything about it without filled soul gems – and those require more hocus-pocus worthy of the Winterhold crowd, not us. Don’t use it, and get rid of it while it’s still worth something. Anything else?”

No beating around the bush and utmost practicality: this is why I had wanted to talk to her in the first place.

“I killed a frost troll! I had never seen one before, and I hope I never do, to be honest. We came across it on our way up the 7,000 steps – around the 5,000th one, I think. I still need to research what troll fat is good for, though. Also, on the way back to Ivarstead, we were asked to clear a barrow from some necromancer who was terrorizing the village. He had some expensive gear as well, plus a weird sapphire piece shaped like a claw that opened a secret door, and may be worth a fair deal of gold. I’m supposed to divide that with Vilkas, though, but we ought to find a good appraiser first.”

“Makes sense, I don’t think Belethor knows enough about jewelry, for all his macho ‘I’ll sell my sister’ talk.”

“The Khajiit caravans, maybe? There’s an Ysolda around the market who says they’re reliable.”

“Just leave your coin purse at home when you go to them.”

“Will do. What have you been up to, by the way? Did you go do any jobs while we were gone?”

“Nope, mostly I’ve been stuck training whelps. I’d be careful around Njada and Torvar, by the way, they don’t like that you’ve been sent out on paid work so quickly. Torvar may be happy making you pay for his drink, but Njada can be vicious.”

“Right. They’ll get over it. That’s it?”

“I managed to sneak out for a hunt two nights ago. We slayed a sabre cat without any chest damage, it will make a fashionable Imperial lady a wonderful coat, I’m sure.”

Ever since the night of the dragon attack, Aela and I had developed a tacit complicity on all matters of the heart and pocket. I knew who _we_ meant. “Then just spent a lot of time sitting around, wondering about the meeting with the Greybeards and how skilled you’d be at dodging questions about it.”

I pretended to be mad at that last comment.

“You speak as if you thought me sneaky and unreliable!”

“Oh, I don’t, but should we ask around Riverwood?”

“We can, but I’d appreciate if that story is not shared any further with people who already hate me.”

“Such long, elegant requests. My barbaric nord ears don’t get it – and you’re STILL dodging the question.”

“Fine! I won’t dodge anything. There isn’t much to conceal either way. Other than confirming that I _am_ some sort of prophesized hero who can absorb the souls of dragons, the Greybeards would give any Imperial courtier a run for their money. I may be more confused now than before I talked to any bloody Greybeards.”

“How so?”

“There was a lot of talk of powers and destiny, and about things they can’t tell me. Ah, apparently that big black monster from Helgen was Alduin _the World Eater_ and he’s some sort of dragon prince who will bring the end of times. And it seems like only the Dragonborn, that is, yours truly, can get rid of him, something about absorbing its soul, apparently. Also, shouting, or thu’um, which is basically taking words from the dragon language, which I learn through having their souls for supper. But they didn’t tell me how to do it, where to start, how to quiet down the dragons once I’m done with them, nor anything remotely useful – just to go prove myself by fetching some horn off a grave. Not one that does anything to dragons, mind you, it just belonged to a Greybeard.”

“So basically, everything they had to say was either melodramatic and scary, or vague and unhelpful.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s to be expected of monks, mages, and such milkdrinkers. So be it. Kodlak was just saying this morning, you came to us for a reason. He wouldn’t elaborate, but in light of this “find your destiny” nonsense… You seem like the type of person who gets things to happen around you, and once they happen, you get things done. You managed to get yourself to Skyrim just in time for Alduin’s attack, and to be passing by Pellagia’s just in time to kill a giant… You don’t hunt, right?”

“No. I’m from a decadent Cyrodiilic port, remember?”

“Right. For once, this is about my childhood, not yours. Something I learned with my father, in the woods, hunting. See, when you’re hunting, you can track your prey and then chase it around all you want – but it’s the prey that chooses to stumble near you and lets you track it. No hunter can summon a bear where there are none – but I’ll be damned to miss its scent or let it escape.”

“So I’m just supposed to go about chasing bandits and rescuing abducted children until I smell Alduin or one of his siblings?”

“Maybe, yes. If the Greybeards would have you do magics and meditate and fetch mythical horns, then they’d tell you how to do it. Forget them. You keep doing your thing. The Circle will make sure you become the best possible warrior you can be. I’ll make sure of it. You’ll have a shield-sibling by your side.”

“I’ll carry some fire resist potions everywhere.” For lack of a better plan, may as well go with Aela’s.

“That’s the spirit. The day after tomorrow we can put the strategy to the test. I’ve got a job for you and Njada.”

“Ah, such joy.”

“Hey, it’s her or Vilkas.”

“I wasn’t complaining! I can always use extra coin.”

“So I’ll take it you didn’t become best friends over the past three days?”

“The troll would’ve killed me if it weren’t for him. He’s still an insufferable prick with out-of-control mood swings, but he’s also a brave fighter. He still thinks me greedy and vain, but he didn’t let me die.”

“That sounds like progress. Worth another round to celebrate.”

Lousy plan after precarious plan destroyed, Aela seemed to have figured out my life for months to come, armed with just a couple of tankards, a seductive side smile, and heaps of dry wit.  After 27 years of improvising and survival, it felt weird to have a purpose. Stranger still, the respectability I had craved since I was a stupid 11 year old who played with a stolen circlet seemed within reach of my fingertips.

I came here ready to play the innocent orphan and the well-bred textile trader. To get here, I’d played the pickpocket, the errand girl, the unattainable seductress, the shy and gawky adept mage, the hard-working and ambitious apprentice, the disloyal confidante, the lover for rent. However, Skyrim was a strange society indeed, where a blade and some guts could get you what would normally take a last name, several yards of fine silks, and impossible dexterity with eating utensils. If Skyrim needs a hero, I can play that part as well.


	14. Act 2, Chapter 1: Excessive Entanglement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year's to everyone on Earth!  
> Back in Mundus, it's been six busy months for Sira. She's now stronger, a bit more disciplined, and quite well-off, but still not as cunning as she'd like to believe. Her fame has grown a bit, but her foresight hasn't. Her ego follows the first, sadly.  
> On a more practical note, since her story looks like it will be divided in 4 or 5 "acts" or "books", I don't know if I should continue them here, or turn "Preten Makes Perfect" into a series. Thoughts?

# Act II: The Shadow You Can’t Escape

_"If you have enemies, good_ _  
_ _that means you stood up for something."_

_\---- Eminem_

_"There is no avoiding war; it can only be postponed to the advantage of others."_

_\---- Niccoló Machiavelli_

* * *

_Restita had not been particularly smart nor particularly talented. Polite, gullible, and slightly slow to get the joke, she was constantly miscalculating the price of fabrics, and her loose threads were almost never tidy. Madame Sienna, the owner, would always complain that Restita would never amount to more than a modest clerk,  not unless she “perked up”._   
  
_Yet, Sira envied her so! Sira felt she was all sharp angles and abrupt contrasts: overgrown legs, broad shoulders, black hair that made her skin appear pale to the point of sickness, a pointy chin and long nose that magnified every expression, and thick eyebrows which seemed to trust no one by default. Meanwhile, Restita’s natural expression was that of demure joy. Her waist was slim, her figure delicate, her hair soft and brown, her jaw slim enough to make her look girlish and defenceless. Her voice had an undeniable low-class twang to it, but was chipper and musical._   
  
_Despite her constant, occasionally costly, mistakes, Sienna would not fire Restita: her easy-going manner were an asset for them on their own way. Sira could not bring herself to be openly mean to her either, and instead chose to befriend Restita as much as possible, seeking to copy her mannerisms and improve them with her own forged refinement. If she could cultivate such an air of innocence without becoming truly stupid, Sira thought, she could own the world and anyone on it._   
  
_“You keep working at such fine dresses, Sira, and some day you’ll own a workshop just like this one – and you'll have your own Restita working the counter for you.” Said their boss, one evening. “In the meantime, dear, don’t slouch, it makes you look like the clumsy one.”_   
  
_As they grew up, of course, Restita’s charm began to count for more, especially after her involvement with General Caius. By then, Sira and Restita had spent four years in each other’s company, to the point the latter would introduce Sira to young men as “my adopted sister”.  Maybe that’s why Restita chose to let Sira know the secret behind all her lucrative new contracts, and definitely why she felt so hurt when Sira gawked at her revelation of sleeping with a married aristocrat._   
  
_“Oh, would you at least attempt to hide that face of superiority! Of all people, how dare you!”_   
  
_“Of all people? What is that supposed to mean?” Sira asked._   
  
_“I mean, given that your mother was a...”_   
  
_“Don’t include her in this! How dare you! First you accuse me of being a bad friend, and now… I wasn’t judging, I just don’t want to see you hurt. I can’t believe you think of me like that.” Sira brushed a couple of not completely fake tears off her eyes._   
  
_“Oh, no, Sira, don’t cry!  I’m really sorry I said that. Really. I don’t know he got into me. I’m just… he loves me. He won’t hurt me. His wife’s rockjoint never subsides, he told me.”_   
  
_The two young women hugged, promising each other eternal friendship. Restita was found dead just 10 days later, her face beaten to a bloody pulp, her slim waist sliced open, right after buying yet another apologetic sweet roll for Sira._

* * *

  
My cheeks had not felt so warm since I had left Cyrodiil. This time, however, I was not flustered from the sun or a dragon’s breath – they burned in shame.  
  
“All this sneaking around. It doesn't befit warriors of your standing. Aela knows better, and so should you.”  
  
Kodlak had found out about our attacks on the Silver Hand. Having grown up with no father and a useless mother, this was officially the first scolding of my life. It hurt.  
  
“I… forgot myself. We had to avenge Skjor, honour demanded it, but then...”  
  
“I’m sure it seemed so at first, but this has gone too far. I know your hearts grieved for him, and sometimes anger and violence is easier.”  
  
I felt a horrible impulse to be honest. The old man deserved to know about Aela and Skjor, about the horrified shriek of pain she gave when we found his body, about my own terrible feeling of guilt at having taken the blood and gave them an excuse for that stupid hunt. I couldn’t not go along with Aela’s plan of retaliation: for the first couple of weeks after Skjor’s death, it was the only way I could bring myself to speak to my closest friend.  
  
I dismissed the impulse. The old man deserved to know, but it was not my secret to tell. Likely, he’d known all along anyway. Fortunately, it seemed he felt it was time to be honest as well, and gave me the full story of how Terrfyg, a previous Harbinger, was fooled by the witches of Glenmoril Coven into accepting the blood – without knowing full payment for it would extend beyond death. And since clearly (for some reason) he believed in me, he offered me the chance to make  up for my recent bloodlust:  
  
“The witches' magic ensnared us, and only their magic can release us. They won't give it willingly, but we can extract their foul powers by force. I want you to seek them out. Go to their coven in the wilderness. Strike them down as a true warrior of the wild. And bring me their heads. The seat of their abilities.  From there, we may begin to undo centuries of impurity.”  
  
As I walked towards the Whiterun Stables, my ears still red and burning, I thought my recent purchase of a destrier could’ve influenced his decision to send me. Clearly he wanted the witches dead as soon as possible. As I galloped west, I realised how much the landscape had changed in the nearly six months I  had spent in Skyrim – and how much my own situation had.  
  
It was early Sun’s Dawn now. I had all but abandoned any hopes of scamming my way into a noble’s manor, but it was hardly necessary now.  Most guards would greet me as “Hail, Companion” now. I was Thane of two holds and a member of the Circle. Between contracts, minor side jobs, selling potions, and my near-compulsive looting of any and all bandit lairs (chronic hunger is hard to forget), I had more money than I ever expected to have.  
  
Ever since that chaotic night outside Whiterun, I had killed seven more dragons and learned two more full shouts – and parts of other three. Whenever I visited a village or town close to where I’d battled a dragon, people would greet me with extra warmth.  I was even beginning to control the wild impulses caused by all the beasts in my chest, although I could constantly feel them battling each other – and now, the wolf, which is not as easily satisfied as Aela would have it look like.  Lycanthropy had its advantages, of course: for someone who’s made an art of reading dispositions and gestures to determine how much I can get away with, there are fewer abilities as useful as being able to simply smell such evidence.  
  
Even Vilkas had acknowledged I had been blessed by something more than blind luck, although he still scowled whenever he saw me talking to the old man or monopolizing his twin’s attention - which I would always try to do whenever I felt he was looking.  
  
The trip was eerily quiet and peaceful – other than a couple of necromancers just reaching North Brittleshin Pass, I went unmolested. They caught me completely unaware – it had been a while since I’ve been out on the road by myself. One of them nearly knocked me off Linea ( _which is not a stupid name for a destrier, Athis_ ), but fortunately, my shield fell on his head when I nearly did. Right, so blind luck on my side, maybe.  
  
I dearly hoped it would accompany me inside the witches’ cave. Just one pair of hands suddenly meant not being able to carry a torch. I had to wait a good while, once inside, until my eyes would get used to the lack of light. The witches themselves were no big struggle – only one of them, who I had been unable to see in time, managed to scratch my face significantly. The other ones fell right away to my poisoned dagger to their throats. Surely that would’ve been considered dishonourable, had I not been alone.  
  
Their heads on a sack, I decided to camp right there and then taking a detour to Falkreath on the way back to Whiterun. I could sell the necromancer’s robes quite easily there, and pamper myself a little. After all, the wolf and the dragons demand blood, but the woman gets hungry too. Siddgeir, Jarl of Falkreath, with his frivolous chatter and warm – if brusque – hands, would more than suffice, even if he repelled the wolf and was regarded as inferior by the dragons.  
  
Immature and sleazy, Siddgeir had made me Thane of his hold the way a trophy collector shops for something glossy thinking only of the display case they need to fill out. Somehow, I’d managed to place myself in two different cases – one inside, where he wined and dined me in his private chambers, and one outside, where he felt that parading his friendship with the Dragonborn would earn him points with his business associates. It mattered not: they were both flattering.  
  
I’ve built a good life in Skyrim.

* * *

  
  
Maybe I felt I had slept too comfortably at Falkreath’s Longhouse, and decided I did not deserve it. Maybe I got overconfident, or wanted to bask in the freedom of not having any shieldsiblings to supervise my honour. Maybe it was the monsters in my chest, who had learned of Alivar or were foreshadowing disaster. Maybe I just like to kill.  
  
Does it matter? All it matters is three Thalmor were crossing a bridge, Talos worshipper in tow, and I felt I had to kill them. The Thalmor, I mean.  I did not mean to hurt or scare their prisoner, but smallfolk always get scared of beast form. It’s likely, too, that I did not hurt him at any point, and that it was the last Justiciar to who threw fire at him, to keep him from escaping – that’s what the poor sod said he believed.   
  
Does it matter? The man might still be alive, somewhere, but the burns in his face will never heal.  
  
As soon as the skirmish was over, the prisoner thanked me for saving his life and ran off, sword arm raised high and voice trembling in fear. As my bones became human once again, I began to realise the extent of deep shit I was in. I’d given in to the wolf without a second thought, in broad daylight, and allowed a witness to escape. Seriously, Sira, way to go. How hard was to kill them as a human?  
  
It took me a while to calm myself down and decide how to fix it. My helmet had covered most of my face and it was dark now, so maybe going back to my cheaper hide armour for a while would be enough.  The prisoner probably knew better than to tell anyone what he had just happened – why risk being recaptured by the Thalmor? As simple as going deep into the woods and staying out of sight for a night or two, until they can blame the murders on some loose Stormcloaks. Yes! It'd all be fine.  
  
Returning to Jorrvaskr 4 days after I was supposed to was no big deal. I still wanted to sneak back into the city late at night, just as an extra precaution. I knew which section of the walls was the least manned one – although as I reached the stables, I realised none of the guards was at their post. Odd. Another dragon attack nearby? I would’ve been able to see the columns of smoke or mist in that case.   
  
Once up the stairs to the Wind District, I found all the guards staring at the Gildergreen. My shield siblings, surrounded by corpses and small fires. The corpses carried silver swords.  
  
NO! How could they! But they were all dead. Ria was crying on Athis’ shoulder. Torvar was leaning against the door of Jorrvaskr, covering his eyes. He wasn’t drunk. Aela was staring into empty space, motionless. She did not smirk. Everyone was wrong. Once inside, the twins and Njada were kneeling on Kodlak’s body. NO!  
  
I dumped the bag with the witches’ heads on the floor. I stood next to Kodlak, looking around, finding nothing but grief – and an accusatory face. “Where the hell have you been? Who said you could just disappear? We’ve been attacked!”  
  
“No… No, it can’t be! I went west! I was doing his bidding! He sent me to…” To fetch some stinking heads and then go around feeling important and kill random  people I met in the highway. Why?  
  
“I don’t care where he sent you. I hope it was important, because you weren’t here to defend him!” His eyes and his fist were dangerously close to my face. If he’d tried to hit me, I would have let him.  
  
“This cannot be. No, not now. Not when I just got him his damn cure!”  
  
“What are you talking… He sent _you_ to Glenmoril?” He seemed hurt by it. Not the time to fight for daddy’s attention, though. Daddy lies dead on the floor, Vilkas, and I have no father. “No mind. They also made off with all our fragments of Wuuthrad.”  
  
“We can get them back...” I muttered, mostly to myself.  
  
“I should have you do it, and with no weapon, and naked, so you’ll finally learn something!”  
  
That better be an empty threat. I dared not answer, but my hand may have moved towards my sword hilt out of instinct.  
  
“No matter. We’ll both go, and we will kill them all.” He continued, the bile in his voice turning into hunger. “There will be none left living to sing their stories. Only songs about Jorrvaskr will be sung. We will avenge Kodlak.”  
  
A weird way to grieve, to think of bards and blood. I knew no other way, though. I nodded.  
  
“Let’s go then. They will know terror before the end.”


	15. As hot as their blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Kodlak's death, Vilkas wishes to process his pain through brutal revenge, while Sira hopes to ease her conscience by helping him.

We still had an hour to go before dawn when we set off. Driftshade Refuge, the only Silver Hand fortress left, was a three-day trek away, but the pulsing vein in Vilkas’ face would burst open by then. By the time we reached the gates, his fists had stopped opening back and forth, and were now only slightly shaking. For all his rage, he’d probably be too clumsy to break my nose, I told myself, and reached out to hold him by the wrist.

“Linea’s already saddled and equipped for camping. She’s not well rested, but will still be faster than going on foot.”

“She won’t resist long with both of our weights.”

“Do you want the Silver Hand to live for three more days?” 

He knew that meant more likely four, as the slightest delayed reflex or muscle cramp on our side would mean our deaths – and their lives. I didn’t wait for a reply. Grief and anger are not the best allies for debate, so I just jumped on her and sat myself on the front edge of the saddle.

As soon as I felt him properly steadied behind me, I started galloping away as fast as I could. As we headed north, I felt the weight of his head on my neck – although his torso and arms were still kept at a marked distance, tensed up. I kept myself from any cheeky remarks or from trying to close it, and the heavy rain kept me from having to acknowledge the quiet sobs.

Vilkas’s prediction came true in the late afternoon, only a mile before Fort Fellhammer. Good old Linea, as sturdy a destrier as there ever was, refused to keep walking. By then, the heavy rain had transformed into stormy winds, so we got off and looked for a defensible spot before tying her to a tree.

“We’ve covered two-thirds of the trip in less than a day, so we may as well.” Vilkas announced, setting himself on a comfortable-looking spot. 

His eyes were still swollen and his hands restless, so it felt right to take care of the fire and tent myself. During the past few months, Vilkas and I had managed to cease open hostilities, and had learned to be near each other in relative silence – he didn’t seem to be one for small talk with anyone, really. This time, however, the pent up discomfort of grief was so thick it could be sliced with his greatsword. Or maybe he actually wanted to talk and seek comfort, and I fucked up worse. 

At this point, it’s too hard to tell.

After approximately half an hour of trying to smother some invisible monster with his left foot, he looked up at me at last. 

“What are you up to?” He said, with a flat tone that obviously strived to be emotionless.

“Reliving my mistakes of the last few days. Care to help?” 

“Not at all.” He didn’t even seem to notice the bait. Bad sign. “I do think I deserve to know why it took you so long to return home.”

It suddenly struck me that, if the new Harbinger was to be chosen from within the circle, then he was the obvious choice. The sudden thought of resuming the “breakfast counsel” sessions I had enjoyed with Kodlak over the past few months, only now with Vilkas, made me felt oddly desolate.

“A series of bad decisions. Or just one of them, I’m not sure. You probably don’t care right now, but I keep going through it in my head, it’s driving me mad.”

Let’s see if this works out. There is something about atonement that appeals the honour-bound audience.

“It shouldn’t have taken me more than 3 days, back and forth from Glenmoril. I told Kodlak as much, damnit! But I was already in the middle of the plains, on the way back, when I realised the scratch on my face wasn’t healing right. It’s stupid, I know, but it really felt like nothing, and if I had just taken 5 more minutes to clean it and rub some blue mountain flowers on it… Suddenly I’m all alone and I can’t keep myself on Linea. I had to ask some farmer to help me to Falkreath. By then Grave Concoctions was closed, I had to go look for the priest!”

“The scratch on the side of your face? Looks hardly a thing.”

“I know! And it felt like nothing, to get it done. I’m sure your war paint was more of a bother. Runil, that’s the priest, he said the bloody witches may have poisoned their claws. He insisted on making me stay, something about them being known to use slow-acting venoms, and making sure I hadn’t caught rattles or something.”

“You know the beast blood would keep you from getting those, right?” He raised an eyebrow. I always forget this is the smart twin.

“Of course I do, but it didn’t feel appropriate for him to know.”

“Right. So while your home was being attacked by those bastards, you… had faced five witches powerful enough to have cursed us for 400 years, by yourself.” He sighed, suddenly looking guilty. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“DON’T YOU DARE! Don’t you dare say it’s because Kodlak asked. That much is clear. But what makes you care so much about his requests? Why did he ask _you_? What was his crusade to _you_?” It had been a while since he last yelled at me – but could I blame him? He needed the release.

“Nothing, compared to what it was to you, I’m sure.” I tried to keep my voice as emotionless as possible. “To me, he wasn’t the father figure he was – is – to you. I would never presume as much. Your grief is not mine, they cannot be compared. And yet, I feel something. Will you allow me _that?_ ”

He didn’t respond. He just sat there, eyes on the floor, finger wringing. Actions over words rule Skyrim, Sira – but I had neither on my arsenal.

“I can’t even begin to comprehend how you feel right now, Vilkas. I’ve never really lost anyone who meant as much to me, much less in such horrendous circumstances.” I felt him wince. Bad strategy. I tried placing my arm around his shoulder for comfort. He let me. “After Aela lost Skjor,”

“We all lost Skjor” he interjected.

“Yes, but just as now, we didn’t all lose him the same way. Either way, I can relate to losing a lover, so I feel I was more fit to be of use to Aela back then. Now… I don’t know how you feel, but I can recognise the impulse to set the world ablaze. And I know you must do it. But I must make sure you don’t burn yourself.”

“Why? Let’s not kid ourselves here, we’ve never…”

“You’re not my favourite person, but you’re my Shield-Brother. All families have all sorts of people. And you’re Farkas’ brother, and he needs his twin back in one piece. And the Companions cannot afford to lose its most experienced member just now. And my own grief and my own beast, which are nothing to yours, have their own demands as well. Just… let me hold the torch for you.”

His breathing had steadied at last. He looked up to me, bloodshot eyes and congested nose.

“To Oblivion with you, silver-tongued Imperials. I’m supposed to be the eloquent one. Well, to each their own grief, then. I just want to go there and make them bleed. I want to see their pain. I need them to see it’s me who invades their home and destroys their keep.”

Some feelings don’t need to be eloquent. The way his voice shook as he spoke sent shivers down my spine.

“To Oblivion with the Silver Hand then. Let’s go.”

* * *

It had been barely two hours of rest for Linea, but I pushed her to the limits. She could rest while we fought. We arrived at Driftshade Refuge a little before midnight, tied Linea to a tree and approached under cover of darkness.

Vilkas didn’t seem willing to sneak or delay, but months of trying to avoid talking to each other even during life or death situations had given us the ability to communicate silently. There were only two guards at the gate, one male and one female. I snuck ahead of Vilkas and got a chokehold on the male guard, a fellow sturdy Nord, dragging him towards Vilkas, presenting him with the first kill. I smelled his satisfaction as he came face-to-face with the guard, slicing his belly open. By the time the second guard noticed his help was needed, Vilkas was ready to meet her.

While he finished her, I opened the keep’s gate, leaving him an open route to storm in and slice open his own pain. We advanced from room to room, gutting anything that moved. For the most part there were only two or three Silver Hands on each room, as a testament of what little was left of them before their desperation led them to attack Jorrvaskr. I chose not to remark upon it – if Aela and I had not been clearing out their keeps for their past three months, Kodlak would not have been killed, I thought.

As we arrived to the cellar, I realised how wrong I had been. The sight of caged werewolves, some alive, some clearly killed after being subjected to torture, reminded me of the inevitability of this final showdown. The prisoners in front of us were clearly farmers, traders, and blacksmiths, not Companions – but still our brethren, in a way, and even more undeserving of the stench and gore around us.

A more delicate version of me (one still pretending to be an elegant woman) would probably have puked or fainted at the sight of the torture utensils and stretching racks. The version of me who wanted to bathe on her enemies’ blood, on the other hand, felt the rush of anger elevating to that of righteous revenge.

The Silver Hand’s cowardly leadership had taken shelter in the innermost room of Driftshade. All six of their most influential chieftains had locked themselves there with the fragments of Wuuthrad, no doubt hearing the slaughter that closed in on them. 

We stalked behind their door for a few minutes, listening in and devising a strategy. They knew we would come. They gave the order, and let their minions die first. Vilkas raged, I wouldn’t be able to hold him back for much longer – but I couldn’t let him face all six of them at once.

“On the count of three, kick the gate open. We’ll enter back to back, and be done with them as quickly as possible.” I told him. “But if it becomes too much, just hit my elbow three times, and we’ll give in. Together.”

“Together, then. We’ll eat their hearts out”

“One… two… THREE!”

Charred human flesh makes me think of Helgen. Raw human flesh is safe.

* * *

Once Vilkas slayed the last of the Silver Hand, we were left with an empty keep, deeply tired but still pumped full of aggression. There was dried blood all over our armours and skin, droplets of blood splattered on walls, puddles of more blood around the corpses we’d made – and yet, we were in no rush to leave.

Sunrise had come and passed – I had no idea how long ago. I healed most of our wounds after a few minutes. He was left with a black eye of unknown origin, and one of my shoulders was slightly sprained, but other than that were _physically_ fine. We went back to the dormitory area and collapsed on a couple of beds.

It had been his idea, but I know I was the only one who slept that morning. He roused me after a few hours, with a big bowl of rabbit stew and two loaves of bread in hand.

I suppose food as a peace offering is never odd. What was stranger was that the stew was _good_.

“I would’ve never taken you for the cooking type. Do I smell nirnroot and carrots?”

“You like nirnroot, right?”

“I’m absolutely not complaining. I do love nirnroot. Fuck, Vilkas, thank you. Really.”

“Well, try it and let me know what you think. I don’t really cook, but I got the recipe off a book.” He sounded genuinely anxious, but of course it wasn’t about my opinion of his food.

“This is really good. There’s a skill to explore, there.” I wanted to ask him how was he feeling, but it felt stupid.

“Eat up, then. After that, we need to pile up all the bodies and burn them outside, probably. Should give you a chance to strip them off every bit of silver you can, for your little trinkets.”

He also wasn’t mocking my recent interest in smithing jewels, which had yielded a lot of gold – even if he had always censored my greed. Who was this man? I raised an eyebrow. This was no normal “battle hangover” behaviour.

“If you help me find where they keep their garnets and gems, I’ll share the profits of my _trinkets_ evenly.” 

“Sure, we’ll look for that chest too.”

So maybe now he doesn’t hate me, and may even respect me. He definitely still dislikes me – he’s just stalling, I realised. Bloody revenge had been our sole direction for over a day, but now he had to face his father’s funeral. Worse yet, he may have realised that he would have to take over, which had to be scary. I pitied him, but hoped he wouldn’t notice.

Eventually, we ran out of reasonable things to do. The bodies were burnt, loot classified and divided, our armours cleaned. Unless we were planning on fixing Driftshade to live there, we had to go. I set fire to a haystack by the door and we retrieved Linea, who was still outside. As we mounted, he looked back at the smoke column, and said:

“Home we go then. We can’t escape from the path ahead.”

What an odious man, always right. As we galloped downhill, we found more smoke and fire: a village completely ablaze, and just south of it, a long line of its residents, with their last possessions on their backs, seeking a roof that would take them. Their kids cried, their adults dragged their feet; all inhaled loss and exhaled despair. Nords are a proud people, but they were being defeated over my refusal to fetch a horn. 

Aela was wrong. Waiting for someone to give me clear directions is little better than escaping, and these people are paying the price.


	16. Slay the beast as if you feared it

Following orders is easy. It may require respect for whoever is giving them, or at most, some conviction. It’s nice and safe. If you mess up, then there’s something wrong with the orders, not you. Same goes for following guidance or advice, though: the biggest, riskiest part of the job is always deciding on a course of action.

What am I going to do now?

None of this is going the way it was supposed to.

I had already told Vilkas, as we covered the last stretch of the road before Whiterun, that I needed to take the dragon business seriously, fetch the horn the Greybeards had asked me for all those months ago, do something about Alduin. Clearly just killing dragons when they showed up wasn’t cutting it. The sight of those displaced villagers had wounded me, way worse than Kodlak’s death could have. I’ve rarely been one to be consumed by remorse over others – but those wretched people were _me_ , for all the gold I could carry around now. Shit, they would be me, they would be all of us, if Alduin was not stopped.

Shame on me. It took me almost six months to realise that my dream manor requires the world to continue existing. Stupid, stupid Sira. This is the kind of foresight that ended with me earning a bounty in Bruma in less than two weeks, and with me on a prisoner cart ready to be executed.

Vilkas agreed. Not with the stupidity part (I didn’t tell him that much), but with the need to do something. He had never faced a dragon (although Aela, Athis, and Njada had, with me), and he couldn’t believe the degree of destruction we were witnessing. He offered his help, advice, and bookish knowledge. Neither of us dared to say it out loud, not with Kodlak’s proper funeral still pending, but I needed my Harbinger’s blessing for my change of strategy.

But clearly _that_ wasn’t turning out the way it was supposed to.

Tradition dictated that the new Harbinger is to be elected by the previous one, from among the members of the Circle – but the Silver Blood had murdered Kodlak before he could designate someone. This meant the Circle would have to elect someone from within its own ranks, a process which in the past had resulted in plenty of intrigue and the occasional backstab. However, with Skjor dead, there was little doubt about who we would elect: I was a newbie, Aela did not care for leadership, and Farkas was incapable of it.

Tradition (not sure if Nordic or The Companions’) also dictated the queerest funeral I have ever participated in. We don’t burn our dead in Cyrodiil, and when the time comes to speak, words are rarely so simple and repetitive – or as touching.

And so we said goodbye to Vilkas’ and Farkas’ only real father, to our advisor, our restrainer, our encourager. I was ready to continue following “guidance” - even from him of all people, so when Eorlund handed me the reforged Wuuthrad, I took it, and when Aela and the twins decided we had to head to Ysgramor’s tomb and release

Kodlak’s spirit from the wretched deal with Hircine, I followed them, axe raised high.

Ysgramor’s tomb is in an ice field, between Winterhold and Dawnstar. It’s a cold and bleak place, full of ice wraiths and snow sabre cats, but when you’re just following the crowd it does not matter. Once inside, Vilkas refused to keep going because “his heart was still consumed by revenge”, which is something that must make sense to Nords, but I still had Aela and Farkas to help me fight the ghosts of Harbingers past.

I hugged Farkas when his fear of spiders kept him from continuing. I still had Aela, the closest friend I’ve ever had, in addition to clear instructions: reach the Flame of the Harbinger, throw the witch’s head on the fire, release Kodlak’s spirit. So we did.

And then Kodlak’s spirit thanked us, expressed his desire to see us in Sovngarde, and told me to lead the Companions to further glory.

The cease-fire was clearly not meant to last.

* * *

 

Aela, at least, had smiled.

“Ah, I remember when you were just a whelp who was begging to join. But your strength and honour are apparent to all. The old man trusted you, so I'll trust you.”

My head was spinning. She said she wanted to commune with the tomb of her hero for a while longer, so I stepped outside. I tried avoiding the twins on the way out, but Farkas caught me.

“Little one, you’re done! Did you do it? Is Kodlak at peace now?”

“He is. He’ll be fine. It will all be fine.”

He hugged me, clearly touched, unashamed of sniffling on my hair.

“That’s not everything, though.”

“Uh?”

“After I defeated his beast, I talked to his spirit. He said I am to lead you all to further glory.”

“Oh, congratulations! No, little one, don’t look scared. Don’t worry about me, at least. I do as I’m told” I am not little, and was hoping to do the same! “You’re strong and smart and the Dragonborn. You’ll be great!”

“Do you really think so?”

“I do. And so will my brother, he’ll just take his time to admit it. This… is a small joy for me, in the middle of all the pain, you know?”

“Right. The pain will get smaller every day, I hope. Should we…” First decision as Harbinger, and I’m already having trouble with it. “Head back home?”

“No, not right now. I feel… I need to stay here longer. Ysgramor, you know, the greatest warrior we ever had. Kodlak’s spirit was here. I’ll stay.”

“Of course. I imagine Vilkas will want to pay his respects as well. I’ll see you home, then.”

“Sure, my Harbinger.”

He did not sound sarcastic, but it felt unnatural nonetheless.

Dawnstar was close enough, so I thought it would be a matter of walking there and taking a cart back to Whiterun, getting some much needed rest. Then of course, Winterhold was even closer, but the town was said to be smaller and colder. Well, if I was going to do it on my own, better to stick to the familiar route. It felt odd to set off without the others. Maybe I needed to commune with Ysgramor as well – even as an outlander who knew next to little about him or had no ties to Atmora.

My wandering led me up a side staircase, and eventually to the roof. I felt a familiar murmur on my chest, one that the dragons’ souls seemed eager to answer. I began wiping the snow out of the nearby wall, confident to find an answer there. As soon as enough of one word was uncovered, the now-familiar blue lights came out, and I was happy to just lie there while they took over me.

* * *

 

“Still cold?” Aela asked, while I handed her the pelting dagger.

“No, I think the sprinting warmed me up enough.”

“What on Earth got into you? Falling asleep out there? We’re in the middle of the ice fields, not a sandy beach of the Gold Coast.”

“Ugh, I’m never hearing the end of this, am I? I told you, it was a word wall. I can’t help it – but now I can make prey walk into our traps!”

“I’ll appreciate you refrain from that when we hunt. It spoils the fun.”

“My new fur bracers beg to differ. I think I can add some silver filigree, maybe a ruby in the middle, right along the wrist.”

She shook her head.

“You and your love of shiny things. Makes no sense, really. Bracers are supposed to protect you and be comfortable. Anything else is useless, unless you’re some delicate damsel from Cyrodiil, and you’re not. I’ve worked hard to erase the courtier in you.”

“Right. First of all, I fail to see the contradiction. I can kill as many bandits as any Nord, I simply don’t fancy looking like one once I reach the city. Second, there’s plenty of delicate damsels in Skyrim who would pay a lot for such pretty, shiny things.”

“And what are you planning to do with all that coin, by the way?”

“Buy more pretty shiny things, you know, remind everyone I am a woman. Try and stop me.”

“I would never. I’ll just hunt whoever convinced you to the ridiculous notion that you need shiny things to look womanly, and kill them.”

“Ha! Are you sure you want to go down that miserable lane again? I’d rather hunt some horkers, see if I can try some of their fabled meat at last.”

“You have not? And you call yourself civilised! Let’s go.”

We were heading east down the Frozen Shore, nearly back to Dawnstar. After Aela found me unconscious, nearly frozen to death on the roof of Ysgramor’s tomb, she warmed me up and took me hunting “to warm ourselves up”. The twins stayed, either to honor their hero or say goodbye to their father.

“Careful there. I heard there’s a Dark Brotherhood sanctuary right east of the city. Not feeling like facing them.” I warned Aela.

“You think they’d recognise you?”

“No idea. Still don’t know who on Oblivion wrote that contract on me, either.”

“Well, it’s not like you can knock on their door and ask, I suppose. Wait, what’s flapping there?”

“Looks like a tent.”

“Who would camp out here? They must be mad. Better leave them alone.”

Just as we tried to go back, my foot stumbled on a weirdly sleek, long icy rock. No, not a rock, _a frozen arm_.

“Too late, Aela. Found the owner, I’m afraid.”

It was two owners, actually, young men who couldn’t be older than 20. Or was it their ice form that made them look so angelic? They were holding hands. Aela performed Arkay’s blessing and headed towards the tent. There was nothing that would allow us to locate their names or relations there. No journal, no books, no clan shields. Just two sleeping rolls, a lot of scattered flowers, and an Amulet of Mara.

“You think maybe one of the lads was going to propose?”

“Maybe. At least they died together.”

She looked oddly touched at that thought. Could she be thinking of Skjor? I wrapped my arm around her waist and gave her a side hug, trying to pull her back to Mundus. It took her an instant to turn around to face me, her usual side smirk back.

“Nothing shiny to loot, eh? You may want to keep that amulet, I bet it will come in handy now.”

“Right, because I’ll have all this time for men now, with everything I have to do.”

I felt a sudden wave of decisiveness and I had to ride it. “Aela?”

“Yes, my Harbinger?” I wondered if she would ever be able to say that in a non-mocking tone.

“I need you to come with me to Ustengrav. Just south of the city. Won’t delay us much.”

Her eyes lit up. “Anything you need, Sira.” She did not sound mocking.

Destiny is what seemed to mock me now. Ustengrav turned out to be the most labyrinthine ruin I had seen so far. I came close to dying at the hands of draugr overlords twice, and Aela herself looked worn out and tired as we reached the main chamber. She didn’t seem to resent me over it, at least, not even when the horn we had come to fetch was missing.

AAARGH! Serves me right, for taking so long to get here. I felt stupid, idiotic, worthless of anything more important than shiny things when confronted to a note that said the horn waited for me in Riverwood, of all places. It was Aela, however, the one to notice that the note didn’t look like it was left five months ago – merely a week, at most, but likely no more than three days.

Clearly, someone had been watching our movements very closely.


	17. Mistrust has a scent of its own

I had been trying to avoid Riverwood ever since its incident, and returning, with Aela of all people, would’ve been awkward enough in any circumstance. However, this time the danger of the rendezvous erased everything else. Someone had stolen the horn I had to take to the Greybeards, promised to meet us and return it at the Sleeping Giant Inn – and possibly meant to kill us.

“Good evening, ma’am. We’d like the attic room, please.”

The Breton’s eyes widened when she saw me. She’d never been particularly nice to anyone, and she had been especially nasty to me the first time I came here, back when I was enjoying Hadvar’s attentions. I mean, hospitality. I mean, it was a long time ago.

“The attic room? You or her?”

“How about both, and we save ourselves the prying questions?”

“There is no attic room. You can have this one, on the left. This way, ladies.” Aela and I exchanged significant looks. Delphine was known to be the most insolent innkeeper in the hold, but the smell of paranoia was unsettling.

As soon as we were inside, Delphine shut the door behind us. Aela’s hand reached instinctively for her dagger, but stopped herself before taking it out.

“Companions, first of all, my condolences. Your Harbinger was a great warrior, and I’m sure he is feasting on Sovngarde. Now, Dragonborn?”

“Yes?” I replied. She clearly didn’t know which one to address.

“I think you’re looking for this. Please follow me.” She handed the horn, knocked on the dresser and opened a secret cellar.

Time to put my own hand on my sword hilt. I should’ve kept my armour on – I wanted to avoid attracting attention. If I get out of this one, I’ll have learned something.

“The Greybeards seem to think you’re the Dragonborn. I hope they’re right.”

“I’m afraid they are.” Aela snorted, as she always does whenever I bring out my Imperial politeness. Delphine chose to ignore her.

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t just take their word for it. I just handed you the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?”

“I wouldn’t mind if you were just to take the title. So what’s with all the cloak-and-dagger? Why bother with the horn, bringing me here?”

“I'm not your enemy. I already gave you the horn. I just had to make sure you were not a Thalmor plant. I'm actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out.”

“I’m listening.”

She turned over and glanced at Aela.

“My Shield-Sister is listening too.” I said.

“Right. Shield-sister. So long as she’s not some hireling from the Bannered Mare, I suppose… I'm part of a group that's been looking for you... well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you.”

“We’re the ones risking our lives coming here, and yet here we are. I have no love for the Thalmor either, but I’m not here to discuss personal grievances. What do you want me to do? Shout?”

“I want to make sure you’re the Dragonborn. You’ll see, we remember what most don't - that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer. You're the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul. So I'll see you eat a dragon's soul.”

She explained about dragons coming back to life, the empty burial grounds, the map of burial sites I had taken out of Bleak Falls Barrow. My head started to hurt. It would rain soon.

“12 days from now, the 27th of Sun’s Dawn. The burial mound is just past Kynesgrove. Be there.”

“We’ll see you for the hunt, then.” Aela said, as goodbye. Unable to speak or think, I curtseyed.

* * *

At least, Delphine's calculations left us with some days to adjust to my new life and title. As soon as we reached Whiterun, it became clear the news of what had happened up North had arrived before us – or at least, the censored version had. Amren, as delicious-looking as ever, greeted me with “Divines smile upon you, Harbinger”, and the guards’ murmurs followed us across the market stalls.

I breathed deeply before opening the main door of Jorrvaskr. I wasn’t ready, but I never would be. Hopefully I could just go hide in bed until it was time to go hunting. Except, no: as soon as stepped in, I found everyone sitting around the central table. They stood up as soon as they noticed us, to make it worse.

“Kodlak made a good choice, but I always thought the new Harbinger would be taller, myself.” Athis said, with his typical dry humor.

“So did I.”

“I’d refrain from mentioning it.” He added, before embracing me.

Ria seemed genuinely happy and kissed both my cheeks. Torvar wanted to know if he could get free counsel with his drinks, and _appeared_ happy. Njada offered her congratulations as well – although she was never as good a liar as Torvar. The twins, who had arrived two days before us with the news, were there as well too shake my arm. Vilkas wasn’t smiling, which was unsurprising of itself, but he no longer wore his black bracers. Bad sign.

Farkas called for a toast, and we all took a sharp gulp for new beginnings.

“I’m so glad to see you all. It’s been a rough few days, and my silver tongue seems to have taken a vacation.” Some chuckled. “Cheers.”

I headed downstairs, to the living quarters. The door closed behind me just in time to hear Torvar’s “Well, that was quick. From whelp to Harbinger in six months, wonder what’s her trick?”

“Aye, what guidance could she possibly offer me?”

Downstairs, Tilma waited for me, just at the entrance of the Circle’s living quarters.

“Ah, my child! My Harbinger! You are home! I am still expecting instructions about your new quarters.”

Oh, shit. Not that. Just when my room had stopped being _Skjor’s old room_.

“You mean Kodlak’s?”

“Right. They’re yours now. I have not been inside since… well, there’s his personal belongings, some of which you won’t want to keep, I assume, and his books, his clothes. Just tell me which ones, I’ll dispose of them for you.”

I cannot fucking do this.

“I… will tell you, soon. I’ll just keep using my old room in the meantime, it’s no bother. I think this task should fall to Vilkas and Farkas?”

“Excellent judgement. Shall I fetch them for you?” Was our housekeeper judging me on my first administrative decision?

“If you’d be so kind.”

They both arrived less than two minutes afterwards. There was little to explain, Kodlak’s personal items were theirs to keep or clear, nobody would argue with that. Farkas still seemed touched by the fact that I’d called them, and immediately began gathering, sniffing, and playing with quills and other random clutter, as if trying to find traces of their gone owner. Vilkas immediately headed to the bookshelves, counting, perusing. I was intruding.

“Sira, don’t go yet, please.” Vilkas said, just as I was about to make myself scarce. “I can compile a list of books for you, so you can decide which ones you’ll want to keep for your personal library. If you have any questions about their topics, which authors are more reliable…”

His voice was eerily impersonal, as if trying too hard to pretend this was just another task to be dealt with. I guiltily though of the piles of books I kept in my room, which I hoarded compulsively for no real purpose – I had little interest in reading most of them, but they were free loot I could never throw away.

“No, don’t worry about that. You take whatever you want, really.”

“Are you sure? There are many essential books in here, including the third tome of the Biography of Barenziah – I noticed you only own the first two.” I have not read either, but oh well. “Ah, here’s a second copy of it…” He stopped abruptly, and the scent of fresh pain invaded the room.

“Vil, what's wrong?” Farkas asked, quickly approaching to help.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… it’s his journal. And it’s full of his handwriting, and his thoughts, and… It’s like he’s here still.”

Why am I still standing here?

“Take your time. I’ll be in my old room. It’ll be fine.” I mumbled awkwardly, before tiptoeing out of the room.

* * *

I had barely had time to drop the herbs I’d collected on my chest and rest my feet, when I heard knocking on my door.

“Come in” I said, without turning.

“I’ve been an obstinate arse and a brute all this time.” It was Vilkas. I had to bite my tongue to avoid agreement.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I wanted to apologise. For everything. For sneering at you when you first walked in, for trying to kill you during your trial, and taunting you, and...”

“A full recount will do us little good.” I replied, perhaps a bit too harshly.

“Of course. Either way, I’m truly sorry.”

“Why? If I’m allowed to ask, I mean.” Did he contract ash woe blight from those dusty books?

“You deserve to know, I guess. I… read Kodlak’s journal.” He blushed slightly, as if he were confessing a misdeed. If only I had such scruples. “The old man trusted you. He knew you’d be the one to free his soul, before you even came here. Sounds strange, I know, and I’m glad he never told me, because I would’ve thought it was ridiculous. I never believed in foresight or dreams. But then you did release his soul, meaning his dreams were right, and he was right to trust you and seek you out. I thought you were trying to _squeeze_ your way into his trusted circle, on purpose, trying to replace me, so..."

I squinted at his ramblings "Of course. Young woman out of nowhere, old unmarried man, is that what you're saying?"

"Absolutely not! No, I would never accuse you of stepping so low! Just that he was kind of my father, not yours..."

Oddly enough, I had never thought of stepping so low with Kodlak, but Oblivion be damned if I wouldn't have tried a similar scheme just a year ago. _Best if he thinks you're offended, Sira._ , I remember thinking clearly.

“I understand you're grieving, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t. This can only sound like crazy ramblings to you... in fact, he didn’t tell anyone because he thought it would sound like ramblings to anyone else. He knew you’d be the one to break our curse, and he may have known you were the Dragonborn, too, before anyone else did. If anyone had told me, six months ago, that a newcomer with the power of Thu’um would show up and become our new Harbinger, I’d have sent for a healer. And yet, here we are, because I’m a paranoid, jealous arse who thinks his farts don’t reek, that’s all.”

“Right, I can live with that. It’s fine. It’s a new beginning for all of us, each in our own way.” 

“Exactly. So can we start over?”

Isn’t that the whole point of everything? This ought to be a trick question.

“No.”

“No?” He looked taken aback. I gave a long sigh. Did I just ruin it?

“Starting over would imply forgetting everything I’ve learned of you, and I’d rather not. You are an arse whose farts definitely smell, but you’re also the most informed arse I have around. I need your help, if I’m to do this… The dragon situation won’t fix itself. You saw the burning village. I don’t want to start over and have you forget you saw it. I need your help to end it.”

“You have my help, for anything you want. The… transition will be hard, but I worked very closely with Kodlak, and I’ll be here to help. We all are, you know. Ysgramor didn’t lead his 500 for them to live in a devastated wasteland.”

“Friends, then? Shield-siblings?”

“Partners.” He extended his arm, and for the first time, he shook mine as an equal.


	18. Unbridled restraint

* * *

Reaching Kynesgrove so deep in the winter could take as much as four or five days, and we had to go up to High Hrothgar on the way there. That didn’t leave as many days as I’d have liked to adjust to the new reality of Jorrvaskr – I barely got a look at the account books and the chance for extra speed training.

No matter about the latter – in the end, there was no best training than facing actual bandits on the road. Jorrvaskr’s coffers were a different affair entirely. Between our recent casualties and the chaotic situation around the province, the Companions had been turning away contracts just because we had nobody who could fulfil them. By anyone else's standards, we were not lacking coin, but my Imperial heart saw nothing but missed opportunities.

Meanwhile, tiptoeing Vilkas's new big-brotherish attitude was its own challenge. It felt odd, even unnatural at times, and as much as I wanted this new truce - no, alliance - to last, I kept having to bite my tongue to avoid falling back into our old insults. And yet, he was so _pleasant_! I wasn't about to yield a iota of my new power over a few niceties, either.

“Best way I see it, we get a new whelp or two. You can test them, if one shows up while I’m away.” I told Vilkas, after getting an estimate of how much money we weren’t making.

“It would be wrong for me to welcome anyone without the Harbinger’s blessing.” Deferential much?

“Well, I’m sure their Trial can always be delayed a week or two? Just test them and keep them alive until I get back. Unless they’re entitled twats, of course.”

“No room for any more of that, right? I could call on farmboy, maybe he’s improved.” I frowned, about to smack him for taking it too far. “Oh, you didn’t know? He applied once, like five years ago. Didn’t make it.”

I won’t laugh, I won’t laugh, I can’t help if I’m smiling. Why is _he_ smiling?

“He’s a Legionnaire now, I’m sure he’s improved plenty but he’s not available.” I said, trying my best to sound annoyed.

“A relief, I suppose?”

“You suppose wrong, I wouldn’t mind.” Wretched lie. “But it’s settled: we’re hiring. I still need to check the stocks at the Skyforge before my final training session with Athis. Make sure Aela gets to rest today, we leave just past sunset.”

“Sure. Just make sure you get some time with the greatsword when you get back! Over-specialising can kill you, trust me.”

“I know, I know. I’ve got to play to my strengths, though.”

“Must you two leave at night? It seems like asking for trouble, not being able to see your foes.”

“Ideally, they won’t see us. Aela will be fine, nightly hunts are her specialty, after all.”

* * *

The hours between Whiterun and Ivarstead turned out to be too few. I had only just began to feel free of my Harbinger mask, and barely a day later I had to put on my “peaceful Tongue” mask. To top it off, I was downright dreading my encounter with Arngeir – I was going to be told off for taking so long, I knew it.

“I’d think monks who meditate all day don’t notice time like us normal folk.” Aela was trying to be as reassuring as possible, as we began the ascent.

“They’re monks, not draugr. I’m in deep shit.”

“If that’s so, then it keeps piling up the more we delay. I’ll race you to the first wolf’s den.”

Turns out, we were both wrong. They had noticed how long it had taken me – but instead of being angry about, they saw it as a virtue.

“It would do no good for your powers to grow too quickly, before you acquire the necessary wisdom to handle them.” Arngeir said, maybe thinking of their last disastrous overpowered pupil, who had started a civil war. “You have completed your training, Dovahkiin. We would speak to you. Few would stand the unbridled Voice of the Greybeards – but you are deady. Your friend should wait behind.” 

As they began a strange series of chanting in the dragon tongue, thunder began roaring and the air vibrated. After they finished, Arngeir began reciting the translation. He mentioned Atmora of Old, a Stormcrown, the names of ancient Nord gods – things that I knew should’ve meant more or warmed my heart somehow, but were empty to me. For all the success I’ve found in my new Skyrim life, I never felt as much a foreigner as when Arngeir said “You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it.” 

Stare at the looking glass all you want, Sira. You are not of the North.

Aela stood at the back in awe, no side smile on her face. This is all wrong. I’m not ready for shit, this training is worthless, a huge mistake. I can’t be the hero of legends that aren’t mine.

As we continued east, towards Kynesgrove, I cracked lame pun after inappropriate joke, hoping to forget that charade had just happened. Aela did not seem to want to forget, though, as she remained quiet and sullen. At least, that gave us little room to hunt, explore, or otherwise delay the trip. The weather was also surprisingly good, and we reached the village of Kynesgrove a full day before we expected.

The burial site was on a hill just behind the village. Having located it and explored the surrounding conditions, there was little else to do but to wait for Delphine to arrive. I hoped to just get a room at the inn and drink Aela’s awkwardness away, but there was no time for that.

“Dragon! Dragon! It’s a big, black one, just over there!” A child screamed, right in the middle of a farm. You have to be fucking kidding me, Delphine got the date wrong?

Everyone started screaming and running downhill, getting away from the dragon. A few tried to grab coats and tools on their way. Some vagrant broke a window and took the chance to begin looting a home. We grabbed our weapons right away and began running uphill, towards the burial mound.

“You reckon we can send it back to its grave before it kills too much?” Aela asked, bow ready. Delphine appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, running towards it on horseback. I unsheathed my swords.

“Wait!” I screamed. “Over there, behind those rocks! Hide there!”

“We came here to kill a dragon!” One of them screamed, behind me.

“This isn’t the right dragon. We can’t kill this one.” Divines be thanked, they obeyed. I would have recognised the black face of death anywhere. This wasn’t the reborn dragon we had to kill. This was Alduin, and we couldn’t kill him. My shaking legs knew it, my tight throat knew it, my _bladder_ knew it. I tried covering my eyes, determined not to see its face ever again.

If I’d tried to run away, he’d have seen us and killed me. I wasn’t ready to die. I could only hide and wait. Being burnt didn’t hurt that much, did it? I was ready to die.

Alduin did not feel like killing me.

He began speaking to the mound. Another dragon rose from it, and then they began talking. The dragon souls in me knew what they were saying, roared in anger when he called me “false Dragonborn”, and sprung me back to my feet after he gave baby Sahloknir the command to kill us.

I lept at it, Aela and Delphine in tow. Their arrows made it confused, and it groaned in pain. I shouted at it, then threw a stream of frost as soon as it opened its mouth. Before it would have time to shower us with fire again, I had climbed on its neck and my swords stuck on its eyes.

Even after blinded, Sahloknir put up a fight. Its claws and tail could still tear apart a home, but we had the advantage. After a while – I can never think of time while fighting a dragon, it lay dead and burst into flames.

“So you really are... I... it's true, isn't it? You really are the Dragonborn! I suppose I owe you a few answers.”

I knew of the Blades as much as anyone else in Cyrodiil – they had once been the emperor’s elite protectors. It had never occurred to me that they protected the emperor only because he had the Dragon blood – being emperor was enough of a reason, was it not?

I agreed with her that Alduin’s intervention both now and during Ulfric’s escape was suspicious, and the Thalmor had definitely gained the most from his escape. I wasn’t as convinced that it meant Thalmor involvement – but as the only lead we had, it seemed worth following. Infiltrating their embassy, on the other hand, sounded like the stupidest idea ever.

“Maybe this little adventure didn’t show it, but I intend to live to an old age, with a manor full of servants and boiled cream tarts. I’m not climbing through the Thalmor’s window.”

“Of course you are not. You’ll walk through their door, with a plan and a reasonable excuse.”

“Or… you could.” Aela retorted.

“No, I’m a Bl

ade and they’ve been hunting me for over a decade. Sira, you, on the other hand, are a harmless-looking Imperial with a distinguished nose and big pretty eyes.”

“Should I be insulted?” She made it sound like an insult.

“No. You should begin checking Whiterun’s market stalls every morning, though. You know Carlotta Valentia?”

“Of course. What does she have to do with anything?” Other than being a fellow pretty Imperial, I suppose? Were we sending her into the Embassy?

“You let me take care of the fine details. Just walk by her food stall every morning. One of these days, she’ll receive a shipment of peaches from Cyrodiil. When she does, come look for me at the Sleeping Giant.”

“And you’ll have a non-suicidal plan ready by then?”

“Exactly. And one more thing, if you want to bring a bodyguard along, try to keep it discreet, will you? Companions in full combat gear will get people to wonder in such a small town.”

Aela scoffed. I sympathised with her – although Delphine had a point. My new Blade run back to her horse and galloped away, leaving us disconcerted. With the village now deserted, we began walking towards Windhelm, where we could sell supplies and take a cart back to Whiterun.

“I don’t like that woman.” Aela said. “She thinks herself all tough.”

“Well, she is tough. But there’s a difference between tough and rude, I suppose. She reminds me a bit of you, though.”

“You’re serious?”

“You both seem to think I’m a pretty Imperial and favour deed over words. So of course, you are destined to be best friends or mortal enemies.”

“Says who?”

“All those new books I have.”

“You’re wrong. You’re not that pretty.”

“You’re just jealous because I can pull off a dress.”

It felt good to have my friend back.

* * *

Windhelm was windy, as its name indicated, and by the time we reached it, stores had closed. As Companions, we found little trouble getting in, but I quickly noticed that opening my mouth would immediately earn me sour looks and even names. I would never stop sounding like an Imperial, and I was mostly allright with that – but the cosmopolitism of Whiterun had fooled me into forgetting the full degree of Skyrim’s political and racial turmoil.

I let Aela handle most interactions, and simply watched. The sight of so many Stormcloaks also brought back memories of Helgen. There were at least two other Stormcloaks who missed execution that day, in addition to Ulfric. I wondered if they made it out alive, if they were still alive, if maybe a Legionnaire had killed them already. One of them, even, had been Hadvar’s friend somehow, had he not?

The square before the Palace of Kings was dusty and full of beggars, mostly maimed soldiers and widows. It was a pitiful sight, but not as heart breaking as the Grey Quarter, were they forced the dunmer to live. I thought of Athis, his tough exterior and his overly sour jokes, which hid a fiercely loyal friend. If he had to live in Windhelm, he’d probably be full of sarcastic comments about how the Argonians had it worse – and they did, in that horrible slum outside the city’s walls. It smelled too much like mine.

We got a room at the inn and waited out the night. The morning after, we got rid of the dragon bones and other minor loot we’d gathered, and headed out as quickly as possible. I never wanted to return to Windhelm, I wanted to return right away with an army and slice Ulfric’s throat.

Once outside, I tried really hard to stop thinking about everything we’d seen. Aela had reverted back to her quiet mode, although I attributed it to Windhelm.

“What’s wrong? Did you not sleep well?” I asked.

She arched an eyebrow.

“I never sleep well. No, that’s not it.”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Mhm… how to explain? I’ve barely had time to stop thinking of you as whelp. And now suddenly you’re also Ysmir, the Dragon of the North, a hero of legend! I mean, I knew you were the Dragonborn, and I’d seen you shout before, I thought it was a neat little trick. But that little ceremony with the Greybeards? The way the air shook when they talked? We just came out of a city ruled by someone who murdered a king with his voice, and that’s… scary.”

“Do I scare you?” I didn’t even bother pretending to be hurt. I scare me. And Nords distrust magic.

“Not _you_ , you. But these arcane powers, they’re dangerous. You know the Oblivion crisis. You should see what’s left of Winterhold. You’re a good, brave fighter, but I can’t help but think that I’m on the brink of seeing you destroy the world.”

“Do you think I would?”

“I don’t know anymore.”

“Well, neither do I. I’ll try not to, at least. I’d rather not be a hero of legends either, you know? A hero… would not let things like the Grey Quarter happen. I feel I should do something.”

“You shouldn’t do half as much as you’re planning to. This business about the Embassy… if that woman’s crazy ramblings go wrong, do you have any idea what they’d do to you? Sira, you can’t be thinking of going through with it!”

“So what should I do instead? That black dragon we saw, bringing Sahloknir back to life, that’s Alduin! The other dragons call him World-Eater. He’s the prince of dragons. He has to be stopped”

“How do you know that? Did the Greybeards…”

“You’ve seen them. They never say anything! I have the souls of 8 dragons living inside me. That black dragon is their prince. Trust me, I know.”

She stepped back at my mention of the dragon souls. I shortened it back, and continued my plea.

“All I wanted is a manor with servants. Right now, I just want my best friend back. They both require the world to remain uneaten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! Ever since my last update, I've gotten married to my own big, fierce Redguard and relocated 3000 km from my hometown - my very own adventure, so updates might become temporarily sparse.


	19. More than meets the eye

Nobody had seen peaches around Whiterun for several years, it seemed. I was told as much by Ysolda, who seemed to think it was very funny that I had asked about them for four days in a row. I told her I was homesick, and set myself on avoiding her like the plague – the woman seemingly spent every waking hour going through the market stalls sharing gossip, which was sure to piss off my paranoid Blade.

Carlotta, on the other hand, was made of much more introverted stock – and was probably familiar enough with homesickness, and so refrained from asking stupid questions.

While I had been away with Aela, two prospective whelps knocked on our door, although they were both judged useless by Vilkas and Torvar. One of them had cried, even. And I had thought that my own trial was a disaster. Routine had set in after that, and with insufficient hands to handle all our contracts, there were rarely even 3 people at a time around our hall. Our table was thus peaceful, private, and with more food that we could possibly need.

After a week of idleness, my feet began scratching only in the slightest, so I chose to take Nice Twin to track an escaped bandit. It was as simple a job as it could get: the man had been apprehended by guards after breaking into Honningbrew Meadery and destroying a large amount of supplies. He had last been seen heading north east, possibly looking to cross into the Pale. Rain as heavy as the one we had meant tracking would be ridiculously easy, and hopefully we could be back the same day.

* * *

We set off rather early in the morning, and spent most of it eagerly trekking, joking around, and sharing silly anecdotes. He told me of the time a barmaid wouldn’t stop following him around, offering free ale refills, that he began sniffing at them suspiciously – and had to pretend to be Ria’s husband.

“Aren’t you a sweet roll? Way to let her down gently.” I told him.

“Aye, but I should’ve probably let Ria in on the plan. I tried holding her hand, and her eyes gave the whole thing away. Ended up slapped by both of them.”

“I bet. I always thought she was extremely fond of you.”

“You think? I think she just wants me.” 

Ahh, Farkas. For all his immense knowledge of people, it was easy to forget he couldn’t handle metaphors.

“That’s one way of putting it, I bet. You shouldn’t let her see you in that fancy new armour then.”

For some reason, he wasn’t wearing his usual plate set, but a richer-looking steel and fur armour.

“Oh, so you think this makes me look more attractive, little one?” He said, with a playful smirk.

“Maaaybe. I’m following you around either way.”

“Well, just so you know, this is my brother’s wolf armour. Mine needed airing, figured he won’t notice.” He shrugged, as if he honestly believed Vilkas would not be beyond furious if he did notice. Then he turned towards me and winked. “Oh, I bet that’s why I look more attractive to you.”

_Oh, crap._

“Oh, but you carry yourself better with it.”

“Of course I do. I’m stronger. Eorlund can make a similar set for you, you know?”

“Meh, I’d rather stick to light pieces. I feel trapped if running for my life is not a possibility.”

“Our Harbinger, the bravest of the brave Companions. Smell that?”

I did smell it, and it made me gag. Freshly roasted venison and stale mead where still lingering in the air. The bandit’s abandoned camp lay poorly hidden behind some rocky formations, close to the mountains. I could not approach the kitchen, but Farkas confirmed it was still warm – meaning he had escaped on the nick of time. 

His trail headed east, towards a nearby farm. The chase was quick and intense, the man was clearly determined to die free. Well, tough luck, because he still ended bound, and less than an hour later we were leading him back to Whiterun. I found our own sight unsettling, partly because I remembered my own fear at being tied up, partly because there was something terribly off about this man.

Back in Anvil, I spent enough time by the docks among pickpockets to know this man was no common thief. His stance was too proud and his face too expressive for someone who should make an art of blending in. Even weirder was the fact that, although he must be a thief – no ordinary citizen would’ve been able to slip out of Whiterun’s jail completely unnoticed – he was not charged with stealing anything from the Meadery, but from destroying property. Two thousand septims worth of property, too, so it’s not like he accidentally tripped over a shelf. He was dressed in rags, but his belt was made of horker skin, clearly custom made, and held a fine elven dagger.

The man clearly had a story, but it was not my lot to deal with it. All we had to do was take him back to Whiterun. If he escaped again after that, it’d be another 700 septims for us. The afternoon was setting in, sunny and eerily warm – I had not realised how much I’d missed sunshine these past few months. Farkas was not as happy about it – he was larger than his brother and the armour was slightly too tight. Beads of sweat began dropping all over his face, and his cheeks were ruddy and burning. 

“What say you if we stop by the stream and freshen up? I could use a swim.”

“Sure, I’ll tie our friend here to that tree, and you can go away while I change.”

“Heh. Sure. You let me know when I can turn.”

I quickly got rid of my armour and slipped over a plain tunic I had packed. It was light enough that it would let me get into the water and cool my feet, at least, and possibly a unique opportunity to frolic like a child. I went knee deep into the water and mud, catching two mudcrabs that would make fabulous dinner, while Farkas played at splashing water about.

He was just showing me a silly trick with the grass when the bandit disappeared right in front of my eyes.

No, he didn’t slip out. I swear. I had been looking at Farkas, keeping an eye at our guest who was just 20 feet behind him, and suddenly he wasn’t. I screamed and pointed, but by the time we reached his tree, the rope was lying on the floor – not cut in half or forced, but neatly left on the floor, on top of his roughspun tunic.

All thought of modesty left behind, I removed my tunic and got back into my armour immediately, ready to resume the chase. He still had to be nearby. However, while my things had been left untouched, and all our money was still in our packs, Farkas’ borrowed armour was gone. 

What kind of thief does this?

To be honest, poor Nice Twin seemed more scared about his brother’s reaction. I was going beyond paranoid, thinking we may have been dealing with an expert infiltrator or assassin. Of course, I couldn’t tell Farkas, since I’d never shared my initial suspicions anyway, and my behaviour had been weird enough for the past days thanks to the peach business. Suddenly Delphine’s paranoia all seemed reasonable – maybe the Thalmor were the ones who sent the Dark Brotherhood after me? Meanwhile, we’d been enjoying a swim and planning a picnic, like two stupid kids.

“You don’t reckon he’ll commit another crime and then they’ll blame it on my brother?” asked Farkas, bringing my imagination back to the realm of the plausible.

“Let us hope not. Can you smell which way he went? It’s getting dark enough, and my eyesight…”

“Aye, I know about it. I don’t know, he was going east before, maybe he’ll try that direction again?”

“It would make some sense. Back to the farm? Or maybe back to the Meadery?”

“Why the Meadery?”

“To finish his job? He’s clearly not interested in money or loot… maybe he has something specific against the owner?”

“Mmm so east, then?”

Right, Farkas just does as he’s told.

We headed east, because I would not deal with the responsibility of coming up with a different sugestion. Here and there, we located split branches and footsteps in the mud, although they were surprisingly few – at least until we ran into a travelling merchant by a road, complaining of a stolen horse. Decency demanded we helped him (or so Farkas said), so I threw 30 septims his way and promised to return his horse if we found it.

Divines be blessed, horses are much easier to track.

Dawn was approaching by the time we managed to locate him. We were quite close to Fellglow Keep, which seemed like a reasonable destination for hiding. There was almost no light, so I decided to sacrifice one of my Paralysis poisons to ensure he would stay put after just one arrow.

We barely had time to tie him back to the horse when an ice mage (who had clearly been expecting our bandit) set a rain of frost on us.

“Farkas, watch the bloody thief! Grab him! **_YOL TUUR_**!”

* * *

We sent a courier to the trader, letting him know his horse would wait for him at the Whiterun stables. He could pay for his horses's lodging once he got there, I didn’t care. Or he wouldn’t be able to afford it, and I would sell the wretched thing. With the damn bandit behind bars, there was only Vilkas to worry about.

It was mid- morning, meaning we were expected back over 12 hours ago.

“The hole is not too big, if you press the fur like this, it won’t be visible.” I tried to reassure Farkas.

“Aye, but what about all the burns by the leg? Should’ve warned me before you tried your dragon trick.”

“Hey, you should’ve warned your brother you were taking his stuff!”

“You won’t tell, will you?” he asked, eyes big in fear. The poor thing.

“Of course I won’t. Listen, as soon as we get in, I’ll call him to my studio while you place it back on his room.” Provided he wasn’t waiting for us at the hall, that is. “Just give me a second, please. I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, are you going to check for peaches?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sira has been feeling a bit neglected lately, with my move, so yesterday I worked hard to make it up to her. New chapter coming later tonight!


	20. The nightmare you'd been waiting for

They were the sweetest peaches I’d ever tasted. We were a long way from the Imperial plains where they were grown, so they were overripe and dripping with juice. Moreover, I had been waiting for them for over 10 days.

I headed to the Sleeping Giant on my own, just two seconds after taking the first bite. Delphine’s plan turned out to be surprisingly well thought out, complete with a man on the inside. Well, a mer on the inside. High Ambassador Elenwen was throwing a very important reception, providing a unique chance for an outsider to enter their heavily guarded fortress in the middle of nowhere. Malborn, Delphine’s Bosmer infiltrator, had secured me a very official looking invitation, and would take care to smuggle me some weapons beforehand.

Ambassador Elenwen threw parties all the time for her usual favourites, though this one was to be particularly grand and include plenty of first-time guests, so I would be able to keep a relatively low profile. Once at the party, I should be able to sneak out of the ballroom, find Elenwen’s studio, and look for all evidence I could get my hands on. Delphine had even procured me a relatively detailed map of the inside of the embassy, including the entrance to a tunnel that could serve as an emergency exit.

Doesn’t that sound easy? Of course it doesn’t. I was probably going to die that night, but I’d do so in a fancy gown and wearing my best pieces of jewelry – including some that I’d made myself.

A few days later, I set off to Solitude alongside Athis, who wanted a chance at slaying a dragon. I was more than happy to take him along – Aela was no longer an option, since she could not stand in the same room as Delphine; Farkas, Torvar, and Ria were not cut out for sneaking; Vilkas was better off not knowing anything, since he’d probably disapprove of such “dishonourable methods”. He was too busy enjoying his position of acting Harbinger either way.

Travelling with Athis left little room for childish games or gossip, although his passing remarks were usually hilarious to those who’d understand them. Our joint status as outsiders in Skyrim had turned us into quick allies and made him somewhat protective of me, always quick with a warning whenever I could break a local rule or to point out some strange use for a local plant. Nobody could ever know, of course, as all these exchanges where always conducted with the deepest frown he was capable of, lest someone would think he was going soft.

Nonetheless, when we heard a dragon’s roar just past the town of Dragon Bridge, I could've sworn he smiled.

* * *

Solitude looks so Imperial, it felt like someone had frozen the posh side of Anvil. Surrounded by rich stone buildings and Imperial coats of arms, I half-expected to run into someone I knew. Even the disdainful attitudes of some of the shop-keepers around reminded me awfully of Anvil. What an unsettling thought.

After we finished getting a proper feel of the town, we headed to the local inn, the Winking Skeever, to rent a couple of rooms and wait for Malborn’s appearance. He was a frail-looking, slightly affected bosmer who seemed more adept at managing a library than at conspiring, but I suppose that was the brilliancy of the plan. He would not speak of what the Thalmor did to his family, although I knew from Delphine that they’d been “purged” – and when I tried asking, I saw a flash of the same anger as Hadvar’s when asked about his mother and Markarth.

Athis turned out to be the best possible ally in this task. He clearly knew a thing or two about infiltrating and smuggling goods (I should ask him how he escaped Morrowind, someday). He helped me choose which weapons and potions to take, memorise the map Delphine had given me, and even stayed with me throughout the interview with Malborn.

He even went as far as arranging my carriage for the next day, ordering meals, and letting people know at the inn that I was thane of two holds (“a stranger prancing around their reception may not be allowed to leave” he pointed out), without me having to ask him to – essentially, thinking for me so I wouldn’t have to, since that would only lead to me being too aware that I was walking straight into the sabre cat’s den, armed with nothing but a pretty smile and rehearsed pleasantries.

After my departure, he’d wait for me for two full days – in case I may need to hide around the woods for a while. If I didn’t turn up, he’d head to the East Empire Company’s warehouse and take care of a minor job, then return undisturbed and tell Vilkas to continue taking care of everything.

* * *

From the age of 18 to 23, I had plenty of engagements that required me to doll myself up and play a role, even if a more straightforward one. The price of failure had never been anything more than a refund and, perhaps, further loss of reputation.

I had been nothing but an underfed wench back then, though, I realised as I began dressing myself. Used to having to hide my intimidating height, my slouched shoulders would make me look out of place in bare-shouldered gowns; and while the grime of the docks can be washed off for a night, the sallow and blotched complexion it left behind couldn’t.

Now, months of training, fighting, and living outdoors had given my skin an even colour and made me develop enough muscles in my legs and back to carry myself upright effortlessly – plus, I no longer had to hide my height either way. Even my hands, which used to be always gloved, were now callused and not without some bruises, but I no longer kept wringing them as if I didn’t know where to place them.

My sharp knees and protruding ribs had been softened over months of daily meals; the flabby arms and back, which used to be “mannish”, were now strong and graceful. I could now fill the bust of my party dress (a deep crimson velvet piece, much finer than anything I’d ever owned) and my neck could proudly carry the weight of my “new” sapphire circlet (so I took it off a draugr wight, big deal. That draugr had been an elegant person once, and I'd crafter the matching ring and necklace myself). Even my pointy features now looked serene instead of haughty. I had never felt closer to truly beautiful, which only strengthened my desire to live. Was this what I came to Skyrim for?

Finally, it was time. Carriages could be seen picking up other guests down the street, and mine would arrive soon too. I made one last effort to convince myself that I had always been as graceful and owned many shiny things.

“Aye, you look ready to snag some fancy heir or something.” Said Athis as a farewell. “Which you should, should you finally kill all the damn dragons.”

* * *

The Thalmor embassy was just half an hour north of Solitude, on top of a hill. The fiercely guarded fortress had been lavishly decorated, the road up to it completely illuminated with magelights, the surrounding gardens full of golden or glowing garlands. Clearly a show of might more than mere desire to please Elenwen’s guests, I thought, as I noticed the double circle of security surrounding it.

I’d have to get off the carriage outside, as a patrol of Imperial soldiers made sure only invited guests would even approach the outside gate.

Once past the main gate, not even soldiers would be allowed, and Thalmor agents would handle all security. Malborn had warned me as much, at least, and I suspected the short walk between the first gate and the actual entrance to the building was meant to give guests a chance to flaunt themselves a bit.

You’re fine, Sira. Just act like you’re used to bossing soldiers around. As I got off my carriage, I noticed a well-dressed hand appear in front of me, ready to help me down.

“My Jarl! What a wonderful surprise!”

Jarl Siddgeir gave me his more peacockish smile, and kissed my hand as soon as I was down.

“A most lovely surprise indeed. I was just beginning to get bored of Elenwen’s constant parties, I am so glad to find my hold’s most precious jewel here.”

Talos guide me, the man is a brazen bootlicker. He probably hopes we’ll go back to the same inn tonight.

“Oh, please don’t make me blush.” Best to go along with the game. If I can’t find anyone friendly to mingle with inside, I could do much worse than him.

“My apologies. May I escort your lovely blushed cheeks inside?”

Shit, Siddgeir. You should be blushing out of shame. Let’s give you something to brag about, I thought, as we began walking up to the fortress, arms entwined.

“Of course. So you are a frequent guest at the Embassy?”

“But of course, my Sira! Elenwen is always inviting me her receptions, almost every month. I've known her long enough to appreciate her excellent taste in food and wine. Of course, sometimes I can’t come, I’m busy ruling my hold, I tell her! And they are _boring_ sometimes, full of the same stiff lickspittles and merchants, discussing the war effort. This time, however, I see she’s making an effort to offer people like us a more refined entertainment.”

“Indeed, the evening looks promising, especially now.”

“Ahh, Sira, you sly vixen! We’ll have fun tonight, you’ll see. If only these soldiers would move the line along already. Who do they think they’re dealing with?” He turned to the blonde, slim soldier approaching us. “Let’s make this quick, come on! I am a Jarl, not some gem peddler!”

“Surely, my Jarl, it’s best if he takes his time? It would make me feel safer, at least. Imagine some Stormcloak infiltrate, causing a scene, or even harming you!” I’m no Stormcloak, but right now I could punch you, my Jarl.

“Your concern makes you even lovelier, my Sira, but it’s wholly unjustified. The Thalmor are experts at security. Furthermore, I’ve got my very own Dragonborn to defend me, don’t I?”

“Always.” I replied. Ugh.

With the corner of my eye, I spotted a familiar mane of auburn hair, and my wolf senses got an even more familiar scent of leather, rain, and Riverwood. My smile froze somewhat. Fuck security, I need to get inside before he sees me. Just a few more minutes – he seemed to be in charge of something else, at least, and sunset was nearly over. Not enough light for him to recognize me over 40 feet away?

“Hmph. Yes, Jarl Siddgeir, welcome, and milady is…”

“Sira Caronte, thane of Falkreath and Dragonborn.” Replied Siddgeir for me. Oh, for fuck’s sake, is he going to tell everyone I’m Dragonborn?

I felt like pointing out I was also Thane of Whiterun and Harbinger, just because two can play at that game. However, 40 feet away or not, Hadvar had clearly heard my name. He turned towards us, and gaped at my sight. It was a _sad_ gape.

Oh, shit. I will never be able to explain this. 

“Alright, please come inside, my jarl, my lady.”

Hadvar kept looking at us. At my jewels, my dress, and the well-known sycophant who held my arm and loudly called me “my Sira.” There was no denying each other now – only escaping.

I tried my best version of Aela’s side smile, gave a careful nod in his direction, and stepped inside the Thalmor Embassy.


	21. The labyrinth

“My Jarl…”

“Sira, call me Siddgeir already, like the close friends we are.”

I smiled at him, seemingly flattered. As if I didn’t know already he adores deference.

“Siddgeir, then. Do you think it’s wise to tell the guards I’m the Dragonborn? They might think me dangerous.”

“If they do, all the best. I would not like for someone else to come snatch you away, my sweet. Some of those soldiers were so brazen, they should be demoted! How dare they ogle the woman by my side!”

Right, how dare they. Although I’d spent the night at Falkreath’s Longhouse at least half a dozen times, I was aware to be sharing that privilege with at least four other women, which would render this little possessive charade ridiculous. Once inside the party, however, Siddgeir’s excessive flattery began to make sense. It was clear he was nowhere near the favourite of Elenwen’s that he pretended to be, but as the Dragonborn was an object of curiosity, he was back on the spotlight.

I located Malborn behind the bar, giving orders to two servants. I nodded towards him, but kept my distance, as I was being introduced and paraded around by Siddgeir. He had a point, this was what life should be all about: fine drinks, exquisite finger food, soft laughs, and an impressive name ready to act as if he cherished you. If at least for one night only, I should enjoy it. The mission could wait.

I barely managed to hold my façade against the owner of Black-Briar Meadery, and an incredibly haughty Thalmor agent, Ondolemar. What’s worse, the latter reminded me strongly of Alivar, even if he had none of his sugary flattery – he was arrogant as Oblivion, but at least honest about it.

At the first opportunity, I offered to fetch Siddgeir some drinks. At last, I had a chance to talk to Malborn. He instructed me to create a distraction as soon as possible, to give us the chance to slip out down the back.

“You see that Redguard who can barely stand up? His name is Razelan. I would try with him, he’s always talking more than he ought. Or try Erikur, he has an eye for the lasses. Maybe he can fight that loud companion you brought.”

“I didn’t bring him, just bumped into him.”

“ _I don’t care._ Ditch him before he makes you too obvious.”

Just from the amount of times he had already told everyone my name and full list of titles, I already knew I’d be forever hunted by the Thalmor – which is better than dead.

I headed back towards him just as he discussed wine quality with two Imperial merchants. I made an extra effort with my accent, and they greeted me as an equal (or at least they pretended to). If I stayed quiet, I’d be able to keep that charade for long enough, but I had a distraction to arrange – and my cheeks were beginning to feel tense from the all the fake laughing.

“Ah, my Sira, thank you! This is the lady I was just telling you about, abandoned a textile emporium down at the coast to come be our folk hero!” 

Shit, I really hope neither of them is from anywhere near Anvil.

“A folk hero? That’s an unusual occupation for lady.” Said the tallest merchant, whose head ended right above the bridge of my nose. I’d forgotten that feeling.

“Oh, Siddgeir jests. I wouldn’t use the word _folk hero_ …”

“Of course not – added Siddgeir – she just does favours for the smallfolk and they sing songs of her in return. We like to keep such traditions alive, here in Skyrim, keeps the rabble from turning to such vagrants like the Stormcloaks.”

Right, change the subject, now!

“A most unfortunate situation, the Civil War. It disrupted a lot of our fur supply lines.”

“Ah, so you decided to come fix the issue yourself? Such entrepreneurship.” A shorter trader asked, with only the slightest hint of irony. What a waste of my time. 

“And to steal our hearts, in her spare time.” I could’ve almost believed Siddgeir, had I not known him for three months already.

Through one of the mirrors in front of me, I could see Razelan stumbling upon our direction. If only I could move just in front of him…

“Oh, but only because Skyrim stole my heart first. I have found some truly divine people and sights here. Have you seen an auro…AARGH! Sir!” 

I turned around sharply to face Razelan, while kicking him right behind the shin. Drunk as he was, he fell to the floor in front of me.

“Sir, how dare you? This man…” this was not going to work. Suddenly everyone was looking at me. 

“What did he do? Did he touch you?” 

“Yes, he… I had never, in my entire life… some complete stranger just…” Oh, the virginal damsel in distress. My best act.

“I didn’t… I beg your pardon, milady. I did not mean to…”

“This is unacceptable! I should challenge you to a duel right away!” Siddgeir seemed too willing to look at this as a personal insult at _him_ , the self-centered pig. Cannot deal with these people. If I could, I would burn them all. 

Elenwen appeared out of nowhere. I’d burn her first, and revel in Vilkas’ laughter at the sight.

“Razelan, you promised you’d behave.”

“Oh, my dress has been stained, too!”

Malborn was right behind me there. “If milady would be so kind, we could go to the back to help remove the stain?”

While everyone was too occupied trying to cancel the duel, Malborn led me by the hand into the kitchens.

“That shouldn’t have taken you so long.”

* * *

Going back to my armour felt oddly reassuring. Did I really come to Skyrim meaning to find my place among people like Siddgeir and those oily, sleazy merchants?

For once, I should thank Alduin.

Athis had left me five invisibility potions, which had to be used sparingly. I tiptoed down the first corridor until I located two soldiers in gilded elven armour. 

First potion wasted. The fancy doors at the Embassy did not creak, at least, and I made it out into another room, where I slit a Thalmor’s throat before he had time to scream. His cloak would be useful – I’ll be the shortest, stoutest agent around, oh well. 

Once his body was neatly tucked inside a closet, I continued unnoticed until the inner courtyard. It was heavily guarded, with at least five elves going up and down – but it was also the only way into Elenwen’s quarters.

There were two ways to go about this: the stupidly bloody one (which involved killing everyone) and the senselessly cocky one (which would require great stupidity on behalf of the guards). Both were most likely to end up with me dead, but at least the second one would be silent.

It was hard enough to walk without my armour making noise under my robes, not to mention my swords. My heart felt like it was about to come out of my chest. I wondered if Altmer had extra fine hearing, the way werewolves do. I kept walking, shoulders tense, face up, as if I owned the fucking place, pretending not to notice the guards.

Three of them – the ones stationed up the stairs – were suddenly called into the main building and ran off. Shit, had they found the body? The other two did not seem to notice anything until I was just by the door. At last. My breathing must have changed, because they guard just by the door turned to me. 

“Hey, you! Who…”

I took out my swords and run them down his throat in one swift movement. Then, opened the door with my left hand, while ramming my right sword into the other guard’s lower stomach. Elenwen’s office seemed empty, so I barred the door, just in case.

Muffled voices began sounding, but I couldn’t determine if they came from up or down. I could see the stairs leading up, but they weren’t on Delphine’s map, I swear. I knew about the cellar – it was supposed to be my way out – but it seemed an unlikely place to hold a conversation.

Better be sure now than to risk someone getting my back later on. Bow in hand, I snuck upstairs. A Thalmor officer and his human informant were discussing someone’s interrogation, who was supposed to lead them to information on dragons. So they knew nothing as well.

Out of the two, the Thalmor was the most dangerous, so he got the poisoned arrow. The informant seemed pissed enough about being shortchanged, but I couldn’t let him raise the alarm. He was nothing but a beggar and a traitor either way: judging from their conversation, he’d sold out a friend, an Etienne. Nobody’s heart will weep for him. The bards will call for toasts on my name.

I found their report on the dragon investigation on a drawer, alongside “dossiers” on Delphine and Ulfric Stormcloak. I should’ve felt guiltier for looking into them, but I suppose I had my own doubts about Delphine still. At the very least, I learned she had a right to be paranoid. She was listed as “capture or kill” and “high priority”. Surely she’d think that a badge of honour.

Ulfric Stormcloak, on the other hand, was an “asset”, once who had been manipulated by Ambassador Elenwen after being “broken”. I shuddered. His dossier mentioned both the “Markarth Incident” (why did that ring a bell?) and the one at Helgen. It looked like Alvor had been right, the Thalmor were glad Ulfric had survived. 

We are all puppets in their interrogators hands – except the dragons.

Time to head out. I searched a couple of dressers for the keys, and then moved onto the cellar.

* * *

There was no cellar. Instead, on the other side of the trapdoor I found the elaborate playground of a most degenerate sadist. The stench of blood, faeces, and pain overwhelmed me. Two bodies hung from two different cells, one clearly dead from days ago. The other one may be the prisoner they’d been discussing upstairs – the one who knew something on dragons.

No better way to earn a dying man’s loyalty than to release them and heal their wounds. Once awake, Etienne told me they had only imprisoned him because they believed he knew about a man in Riften, an Esbern. He helped me find the dossier where they’d written down information about him.

Apparently, Esbern was a Blade. I felt tempted to go through some more drawers, maybe I could find more Blades hiding around Skyrim. Nope, foolish way to risk your life.

I headed towards the exit tunnel with Etienne. He was too weak to move the trap door by himself, so I helped him and let him go first. Goodbye, bloody labyrinth. Steps came from the gallery on my left. Two Thalmor soldiers held Malborn.

“Time to stop running! Yield or we kill him!”

My bow was stashed away. I had no range weapon at hand, and my feeble fire could not kill two Altmer before they sparked me to death. Malborn’s eyes were round with fear, though, begging me to at least try.

“Fine. Kill him.”

Their ridiculously ornate dagger slashed Malborn’s throat. The soldiers dropped his corpse, kicked it away, and ran down the stairs, ready to apprehend me.

**“FUS RO DAH”**

The strength of my shout broke the wooden stairs below them, and they fell to the floor, only to be axed in the face as soon as they landed. I dropped the steel axe back on the floor, and run down the trap door.

The outside world greeted us with the noise of horse hooves and steel clinking. There were search parties everywhere, looking for us – for me. Best to split up, hopefully Etienne was not as familiar with the wild as I was and he could be caught on his own.

Clearly, Etienne thought the same of me. I’d like to think he’s still alive somewhere. I was left on the densely forested hill on my own, to try and make some distance between me and the embassy before the sun came back up. At two points I came dangerously close to search parties, and judging by the accents, they were made up of both elves and legion soldiers alike. I did not hear Hadvar’s voice among them, but couldn’t decide if that was good or not.

I reached the main road well before dawn broke. I kept walking towards Solitude, out in the open, still hidden in Thalmor robes. Some farmers called me “milkdrinker” when they thought I couldn’t hear them, but I was too glad of hearing farmers again to mind. Plus, they were really saying it to the Thalmor I’d killed. Now it was just a couple of miles until I was back into the city, where I could ditch the cursed disguise and re-enter the Stinking Skeever as Sira, in my usual armor.


	22. Promises gone stale

Stupid finger food is no real food for a warrior, I thought, as I tried to squeeze an extra layer of cheese inside my bread.

“Azura’s grace, Sira. Did you think you’d never eat again?” Athis asked, while he munched his usual hard boiled eggs.

“I had no dinner last night, allright? Turns out nobles don’t eat. If only I’d known…” The fact that we were having breakfast at 11 made my appetite all the more orcish.

“Sure. Let’s hold the laughter until later. What time are we meeting the East Empire’s representative?”

“Tomorrow, a couple of hours after first light. He’ll give us more details then, all I know now is what he told Vilkas when drafting the contracts, there’s some smuggler pirate ring that needs to die. Apparently they’ve bribed the people at the lighthouse to ‘cause’ a few wrecks, so if we find any evidence of that we may get extra, I hope. Remember to ask.”

No amount of food would finish erasing the stench of the torture dungeons, so I tried my next best trick: to make myself compulsively busy. I had looted a few select pieces out of the embassy – fine clothes and enchanted jewellery, all rather valuable, so I spent all morning locating the highest bidder. Then I dragged Athis into Angeline’s Aromatics, the local apothecary, and forced him to lecture me on 15 different ingredients that Arcadia was unlikely to stock. We even ran an unpleasant errand for the owner, which required us to go all the way to the Blue Palace and back. It was all no good – every blink I gave still summoned Malborn’s pleading eyes. 

Oh, just kill him already. Just not in that dungeon, please.

Next phase in the art of forgetfulness was to go back to food and mix it with copious amounts of wine. Back at the inn, however, we had no such luck. I intended to glue myself to the bar until Athis had to carry me back to my room, but I had only emptied my glass twice when a familiar voice brought chills down my spine. 

“So, what happened to the Sira I left in Whiterun?”

Shit, I’d rather bring Malborn back. Hadvar stood right behind me, his voice dripping with resentment. I turned around to find him in civilian clothes, sleeves rolled up, his hair free and all over the place. He truly looked like a delicious farmboy. One that I’d hurt many months ago, and who very evidently hated me.

“She’s right here.” A stupid thing to point out, really, but I had to try. “For just a couple of days. Companions business.”

“Companions business, eh? That looked about right, last night.” Between his piercing gaze and my shame, I was likely to fall off my stool any minute.

“Yes. _Brief_ Companions business.” I repeated. An awkward pause followed. I expected him to yell at me or leave me alone, not to stand there and stare, as if measuring my guilt. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Just say it. I’m an idiot, an ungrateful idiot who knows nothing but to run away. I know I am. Just…” I was trying to keep my voice as emotionless as possible, but it refused.

“I believed we had something. You were all smiles and gazes and flirts and I thought they meant something, stupid me. And then you just turned around and left, but even after that night, I didn’t think you so cold. I waited for you, kept checking the lists to see if you’d enrolled. And look in which list you turned up! I should’ve known, smiles and teasing words, that’s just second nature to you fancy Imperial ladies, eh?”

His anger was clearly too fresh. Damn Siddgeir, proclaiming my name about. It was not my fault. I did nothing wrong. I would not scream.

“I… believed we had nothing, first. You pushed me away! And then everything went wild, and you said Riften and I didn’t understand what that meant. If I stayed away, it’s because it was never _just nothing_ to me! I felt stupid for being too forward first, and then felt stupider for not understanding what you were suggesting… I was angry.”

“Sure you were. That’s why you chose to attach yourself to the first puffed-up big-shot who gave you shiny things?!”

To my left, I heard Athis snort. I had forgotten he was there at all, but was not about to acknowledge him.

“Excuse me? What exactly are you saying? Speak clearly, as the nord you are.”

“I’m saying, even after that little scene back at my uncle’s, I thought better of you! I did not think you’d be the kind of _lady_ who attaches herself to a known lickspittle who changes trophy every two weeks! You were going to join the Legion, then be a Companion, and then some idiot noble buys you a fancy necklace so you…”

I slapped him strongly, square on the face. It made enough noise for people to turn around. Hadvar was still rubbing his cheek when Athis decided it was a good time to intervene. He turned around and asked:

“Everything allright here, my Harbinger?”

Gods bless him, that was smooth.

“I can handle it, Athis. I’ll be fine. Are you heading to your room already?” I asked, hand softly placed in his arm, in the sweetest voice I could muster.

“Sure, I suppose I’ve eavesdropped enough already. Aela is going to love this.” With the best impression of her side smile, he walked away.

At last, Hadvar dared to talk again.

“Harbinger? Of the Companions?” Oh, don’t you dare smile at me like you’re about to congratulate me.

“Yes. Well-known dragonslayer, too” I did not dare to say Dragonborn. “And thane of Whiterun, _and_ thane of Falkreath. And perfectly capable of buying her own shiny things and being invited to Embassy receptions out of my own merit. Of course, you’d rather think of me a pretty trophy. I was damn right to stay away from you!” 

He hid his face with his hands. Yes, feel embarrassed.

“Oh, Sira, I’m sorry. This was uncalled for. I was… blinded by rage, which is unlike me, I’d like to think, but I was very shocked to see you, and he was acting as if you were involved.”

“Ah, but of course. He acted as if he owned me and everyone else in the building, and he does like to surround himself with women – but we’re not involved. I provided a service for him months ago, and he made me thane, and we call each other friend, but that’s it.”

“Of course, and in truth you don’t really owe me an explanation.” Of course I didn’t, yet I’d realised I cared what he thought of me. There were no mirrors around, but I’m sure I looked as sad as he did.

“Right. We owe each other nothing. Is that how you’d like it to be?”

He continued looking at the floor. If one of us is going to go for the waterworks, it should be me, right?

“So what are you doing here, Hadvar? At the inn, in civilian clothes, I mean. Is it your day off?” This should take us to a happier topic, right?

“I’m on leave without pay, actually. We all are. The whole squad that was handling security at the Embassy last night. For two weeks, go figure.”

“Oh. You mean you got suspended? Why?” Shit, talk about unexpected consequences.

“Apparently there was an incident during the party. One of the guests was an impersonator, it seems, snuck out of the party, killed some Thalmor agents. The Ambassador was furious, so my Legate thought it best to suspend us to appease her – before she had us interrogated, I suppose, thinking we’d helped.”

“Shit. But that’s hardly fair! The Thalmor are a scary lot, to be sure. So… did they catch him?”

“As far as I know, no, they didn’t catch him… or her” He was back to staring at me again. “They’re hardly ever open about anything, though.”

“Right, they do have that reputation.” This conversation cannot get any grimmer. "Would you like to move to a table so we can eat something? My treat.”

He took a step closer to me. I got off my stool, thinking he was just going to hold my arm on the way to a table. Stupid, stupid Sira.

“Sure, I'll let you buy me food. First, though, I will fill you in a little secret.” He placed a hand around my waist, slightly too forcefully. “They made us check the guest list after the party, as the guests left. The guests would not know that anything had happened, of course, but we did. We had to make sure everyone who came in was accounted for on the way out. At some point, I held the full list of departing guests. Guess whose name wasn’t there?”

If there was a time to fake confidence, now was it.

“Oh, doesn’t the Empire love their lists? Did you have time to check that closely? There were over 300 guests.”

“Sira, drop the act.”

“Shouldn’t my official interrogator tell me that? Are you about to arrest me?”

He backed down, and return to his usual gentle manner. “Of course not. And there will be no official interrogator. I… just wanted to see your name, I guess. I don’t know if any other names were missing, but yours no longer is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I added it when nobody was looking. There, I tampered with one of our beloved lists, happy? So as far as the Legion is concerned, you left with everyone else. The Thalmor probably ran their own count, of course…”

“Why?” I asked, still coldly. He would not see me cry. Not even if he placed his hand on my cheek, as he was doing, threatening to kiss me.

“How can you ask me that, Sira? You know why. I wanted to make sure you’re fine. As angry as I was from seeing you with that… man, and as confused over you doing something like that… I mean, what were you thinking, Sira?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t. I want you to be fine too.”

“But it’s no Companions business, I’m sure.”

“It’s a dragon business. That’s all you can know.”

“Ah, Sira. What happened to you? It all seemed simpler back then, didn’t it?” His hand had moved from my cheek and onto my hair, and he was holding me close, as if he feared I’d run away.

“Yes, everything was simpler when it was just the one dragon. Please don’t ask anything else. I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Right, I’m sure you never want to lie to anyone. Are you still that sweet inside? You’ve changed a lot, you know? Yesterday, when I saw you, I noticed. You stand differently. You look almost taller, fiercer, regal. But I’d like to think you’re the same inside – when you’re not barking orders to companions and infiltrating embassies.”

“No, Hadvar, stop. You think…” You think I was ever sweet? You persist on thinking me so? Are you blind?

“Just tell me, did I ever have a chance?”

“You still have it. Just not now. The dragons are not gone.”

He held me tighter than I’d ever been kissed or fucked.

“We’ll see about that. Take care, my sweet.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

* * *

At least I wasn’t the only one messing with powers I couldn’t understand. Our bandits were led by a Thieves Guild renegade who had acquired, somehow, the main beacon lighting Meridia’s temple, and was using its light to mislead incoming ships and cause them to wreck. 

As a business idea, it was well rounded profit. There was the minor detail, of course, of desecrating a Daedric temple – and even having the nerve of establishing his hideout on its entrance. The approximately 10 associates did not live long after our arrival. Time to pack up, collect our money, and head home.

“Right, so which way was the stairs to the beacon?” said Athis, as I finished pocketing the last of their coin purses.

“What are you talking about?”

“The Beacon. Meridia’s beacon. We should return it to its rightful place.”

As a Dunmer, I knew he worshipped Azura, and no longer cared when he called her name during battle. It was a special case, though. I mean, I’m not particularly religious, as I always found my mom’s reliance on the Kynareth temple to be more of a bother. But, mate, _daedra_. I can praise or ignore Talos as much as convenient, but daedra are worshipped by obscure characters who are not to be trusted.

Best not to tell him that.

“Right. I think the stairs were outside. Shouldn’t take much, eh? Want me to stand guard while you do it?”

Athis sighed. “If it bothers you that much, you can get a head start back to Solitude.”

“And abandon my brother? Nope. I’ll go with you.”

Messing with the beacon was probably bordering on breaking some law. However, when Meridia’s statue started speaking to us, ordering us to get rid of Markoran, a necromancer who was defiling her temple, there was little choice in the matter. Daedric princes are not exactly forgiving, and killing necromancers is a laudable action no matter who gave the order, right? Surely no Vigilants of Stendarr would see us.

We advanced through the temple’s inner halls and shrines, getting rid of all corrupted shades and skeletons we encountered. There were plenty – this was no apprentice dark mage, clearly. Anticipation for that final battle made us overexcited and reckless. When we finally reached the inner chamber, I thought little of the small gang of minions protecting him, and went straight for the kill.

What a bad, bad idea that was.

Athis had been covering my back for most of the way, but he still deserved a heads up before I jumped for it. I did not give him a heads up. While he managed to get rid of all the shades protecting him, he did not do so effortlessly. I don’t know how long he remained unconscious after beating them, while I faced Markoran one-on-one. All I know is that at some point, when Markoran was close enough to dying, Athis stood up, vacant-eyed, and headed straight for me.

The scream of absolute fear got stuck on my throat. At first, I feared him dead and resuscitated through dark arts, but my wolf smelled blood still pulsing through his veins. He was just possessed, and I could not bring myself to kill him.

I ran to the opposite corner of the room, to continue throwing fire at Markoran. Once he was dead, surely the spell would break? But after his body felt limpless to the ground, his spirit kept throwing spells at me. I would not be able to fend them both off at the same time, not without simply killing Athis. 

No, this was my friend. His face had little left of his usual expression, but he was still in there, damnit!

I slammed my shield to his head, staggering him for a bit – just long enough to disarm him. Then I faced Markoran’s head-on, like a complete berserk. He had to be defeated. I ignored the frost daggers stuck on my body and the arms, no, the friendly hands closing my neck. The spirit was getting weaker, and if I stopped to think or breathe or scream, I would die. If I did not breathe right now, I would die.

The last thing I saw was my shield-brother’s face on top of mine, either enraged or blank or crying. The last noise was that of my bones cracking.

* * *

“She’s awake already! Call the guard.” A hoarse voice said.

“She is still very weak. Surely the questions can wait?” Someone with flowing robes was just by my bed, saying that. Probably a healer. What questions can wait? Two guards approached me, one of them immediately removed his helmet.

“Miss? I’m Silmar, captain of the Solitude city guard. I have a few questions for you, is that allright?”

“Do I look allright?” I nearly choked just from the effort of saying that. Where was Athis? He better be off fetching me a glass of water.

“Clearly not, but we’d like to know what happened. You were brought here by a Dunmer who claims to be your brother, heavily injured, nearly strangled to death. Would you like to report him for attempted murder?”

“What? What are you talking about? Where is he?” Of course he would get charged with the assault. Technically it was him, but go explain demonic possession to such a bigoted oaf.

“Miss, listen to me. If you had a… couple’s quarrel, and he tried to murder you over it, breaking three ribs and your elbow, then you must report it so we can protect you.”

“Are daft or what? Did he not tell you he’s my brother? WHERE IS HE?”

“We are just making sure he doesn’t escape. It’s clear he’s not really your brother.”

“Shield brother. RELEASE HIM, NOW!”

“This is no place to hold an interrogation or a shout match!” Flowing-robed wimp again.

“This is no place to act on prejudice either! Listen, I’m the Harbinger of the Companions. I don’t need your protection!” Well, I was gravely injured, so maybe not the best thing to say. "We were getting rid of bandits for the East Empire Company. Bandits! _Nord_ bandits! They did this to me! Not my shield brother. He saved my life! I demand they release him immediately.”

“Can we check with someone from the Company to see if they truly hired the Companions?” Captain Asshole asked someone else. They would not even believe me. 

“Oy! I’m telling you! If you don’t want the rest of Jorrvaskr to send you to Oblivion, release my friend! Shame on you, stupid bigot!”

“Right. Let’s release the gray one. Do we have a calming potion for the girl?”

“Chauvinist, bigoted mammoth! How dare…” Something was pushed down my throat and I went back to sleep.

* * *

The cart was not as comfortable as a bed, but I wanted my bed – and Athis was rather eager to get out of Solitude as well. The ride back to Whiterun was still tense, he was too scared, angry, or both, to talk. I was sick of pretending to sleep, though.

“Aela said once that we only get one soulmate, one person we can be comfortably silent with. Clearly I’m not about to marry you, so just tell me what the fuck happened.

“I came back to my senses after Markoran’s spirit died. I was afraid you’d died, but then you didn’t, so I carried you back to Solitude to fetch a healer. Ran into your farmboy friend, he was going to help me arrange a cart for us, since it was clear you’d not be up for the trek for a while. In retrospect, bad decision.” He would not look at me. Clearly he still humiliated by the whole incident – I’ve been called “milkdrinker” and “stinky imperial” enough times, but never been accused of anything based on my race. Even if I were the type to empathise, I probably couldn’t.

“Right, caught trying to flee. Well, only the 15th bad decision we took that day, eh? We’ll be home soon.”

“Right. We’ll be home soon.”

“Athis?”

“Yes?”

“I’m so glad we’re both alive. Thank you for sticking with me inside that stupid temple.”

“Thank you for your passionate defense of my innocence. I don’t think you’d screamed so much since the golden age of your rivalry with Vilkas.”

“I trust they were not too awful to you?” Other than throwing you into jail because of racial prejudice, I’m sure they were lovely.

“Not my first visit to a prison, Sira. I’m sorry I tried to kill you.”

“You know I know it wasn’t you, right? That wretched necromancer… people like that shouldn’t exist.”

“I know. I’m still sorry. Shouldn’t have insisted to restore that damn beacon. At least we got a nice sword out of it, I guess. Go back to sleep.”

I went back to pretending to sleep. Necromancers may be scum, but when I slept it was Athis’ face I saw, intent on killing me. His pointy ears kept mixing with Malborn's, and I couldn't tell who was killing whom.


	23. Frightened old friends

I was trying to pack my things with just one hand, as my right arm was still on a sling. Since I like challenges and clearly this wasn’t enough, I was also trying to retell a very complicated story to Aela. Since she’s always up for an even bigger challenge, she was not making it easy.

“So she didn’t even pretend to be glad to see you? If she truly thought you’d died, I mean…”

I had showed up at the Sleeping Giant Inn over a week after Delphine had expected me, with the documents I’d taken from the Thalmor Embassy. I’d been heavily injured on the way back (no, Sira, don’t think about it!) and, to be perfectly honest, I had also expected more sympathy on Delphine’s behalf. However, Delphine and Aela had disliked each other from the start, and there was no use fuelling that fire.

“Well, she did ask about the sling at first…”

“Right, with that lovely demeanour of hers, I’m sure she rushed to get you some tea.”

“Maybe, if I’d asked for one. Either way, as soon as I handed her the dossiers, she flipped out at Esbern’s name. I had to remind her to read the dragon one.”

“That woman’s nerve! You’re Dragonborn, not her errand girl. They’re supposed to be your errand boys, if anything.”

“Well, she’s got a much more delicate cover identity to guard. Plus, she has a point: if the Thalmor know nothing, this man’s our best hope. Esbern was loremaster, not a foot soldier. A bookish type, you know? And right now, we have no other clues about the return of dragons.”

“Right. So you have to go. Right now – we’re not even waiting for your arm to get fully back in shape. You nearly died once this month already.”

“And we’ve wasted enough time already. The Thalmor may be on their way to get him right now. I’m bringing a huge bodyguard along, am I not?”

She chuckled.

“Aye, his arms are large enough for both of you. You have no idea how thrilled he is to be taken along.”

“Aela, my quiver.” I was not biting that bait.

“Here it is, my dear. Full of arrows for your enemies hearts’.” I was not acknowledging that smile. “Yous are heading out right after lunch, right? Try not spoiling his digestion with tales of farmboy.”

I swear, I’m never trusting Athis again. Bad enough that he tried to kill me, the damn gossip.

* * *

Thanks to Linea and Martin (Vilkas’ own destrier), the trip to Riften would take less than three days. The road was also one of the most used in the province, which made it relatively peaceful. Vilkas was still a quiet comrade, but ever since we’d promised each other to make an effort, it was no longer the aggressive silence of restrained insults – not even the awkward one of people who have nothing to say to each other.

At some point, his presence had become reassuring.

We had to camp once, and then spend another night at an inn. Both times, dinner conversation was pleasant, interesting, and more than polite. I had been reluctant to go into too many details about my little stint at the Embassy, but I felt relatively at ease to discuss my findings with him – and he didn’t ask how I’d gotten them.

“In a rather ironic way” he pointed out while fighting with a particularly chewy piece of steak “I suppose it’s very fitting that the Thalmor are not involved. All the other pieces fall together so precisely, especially Ulfric’s, that there had to be one that didn’t. Real life strangely arranges itself in the neat ways that it does in books.”

“Is that supposed to be consolation?”

“Not quite. Although the Thalmor surely fancy themselves the authors of our book, so I’m glad their plots leave loose ends.”

There was a particular loose end I had been meaning to ask – ever since I remembered it.

“Can I come to you with a stupid question now?”

“You can always come to me with questions, little one.”

“Only your brother is allowed to call me that.” I laughed. “What happened in Markarth like 20, maybe 25 years ago?”

He nearly dropped the piece of steak from his mouth.

“Sira, that’s no stupid question. That’s probably the most important question of the Civil War. Do you remember the Forsworn?”

“Sure. The romantics out west who want independence. I’ve killed a few already.”

“After the Great War, they took total control of Markarth, and wanted to be their own province. It’s not up to me to decide if they should’ve been granted it, or if they were good rulers. Facts are, they had deposed the jarl, who asked Ulfric to recover the city for him. Nobody knows how many died, but they say after the siege, Ulfric took all neutral citizens as foes, and slaughtered them equally, even green boys as young as 13. There were reports of tortured and mutilated women, too.”

“That… explains a lot, I suppose.” The look of absolute hatred in Hadvar’s eyes. How does one continue living with that knowledge?

“Can I ask my own stupid question?”

“Ah, so my question _was_ stupid. Cheers to that, mate.” Our tankards clinked. “Go ahead.”

“What happened with Athis while you two were off? No, don’t make that face. Something happened. You keep avoiding each other’s gaze. Did you two fight?”

“I was not aware he was avoiding me. Must be because I’m pretty.”

I really hadn't noticed. I was damn aware I was avoiding him, though.

“Sira… Did you two… get involved somehow?”

“What?”

“Oh, like you’d be the first ones to.” I remembered then he had been quite close with Skjor. No wonder he hated me.

“Ah, like the Harbinger would get involved with a whelp?”

“I’ll tell him you said that”

“Please, don’t. Seriously now, nothing like that happened. We didn’t fight either – but I’ve been avoiding him a bit the past few days.” He tried to kill me, you see. And I witnessed a very humiliating circumstance for him. I need a better excuse than that.

“We run into Hadvar at Solitude, as you well know.” I continued “Don’t you give me that look, even Ysolda from the market knows it. It was horrid, and Athis ended up witnessing a side of me that… I’m an entitled, bitchy girl, we both know that, so go figure. Can we focus on the end of the world again?” 

“Sure, Sira. Did I mention there’s been a series of vampire attacks? The more the closer you get to Morthal.”

“You reckon I should add that to my to-do list for after Alduin’s dealt with?”

“Divines, no! Would be about time to spend some time in Jorrvaskr, don’t you think? It gets lonely, between all those papers.”

My arse be lonely. Someone’s not liking their coveted job, suddenly.

* * *

Riften is no Whiterun, but it’s not Windhelm either. The canals and boats are quaint, and even despite the squalor and dirt, it’s clear this was once a rich city. And what part of Skyrim is not full of desperation right now? It’s the end times, after all.

It’s also the home of a very decayed Thieves Guild. The Anvil chapter had been very powerful and highly ritualised in their initiations, so the one here seemed downright a joke. Nevertheless, when a rather good looking red head approached me with a very interesting, frankly easy way to make myself richer, I felt strongly tempted to accept. Pickpocketing and incrimination were a specialty of my past life, and it felt like the perfect way to wash away the lavish mistakes I’d made at the Embassy party.

I probably would’ve, if I hadn’t had Honour Personified helping me carry my burdens, and if Red Handsomeness had not called me “lass”. How I hate that word. Still, even Vilkas had to endure the thief’s company for a while. Riften was too big, we couldn’t just walk in and locate a man we’ve never seen with nothing more than a first name. I had to buy a lot of mead for a lot of shady characters, while wearing my “pretty” dress – the one with cleavage.

I bribed my way with the local innkeeper through some gems (my fondness for shiny things was NOT useless) and giggled a lot at a stableboy’s lame puns to find something vaguely concrete: Ratway Vaults. Barely enough information to return to Vilkas, who had given up the search and was discussing smart-man-stuff with an Imperial.

“Ah, aren’t we enjoying ourselves?” I asked, not caring about the conversation I was interrupting.

“Well, you seemed to be handling yourself nicely. I’m sure I would’ve been in the way of your _tactical questions_.”

“Quite on the contrary, my foot on your arse would’ve made them a bit more persuasive.”

“You’re just being rude now, Sira.” His cheeks were flushed and his grin so wide, I knew how much fun he was having. “May I introduce you to a traveller from your province? This is my Harbinger, as you can see, a gorgeous lady used to being obeyed.”

First lass, now gorgeous. Is it something in the mead here making men sleazy?

“Good evening, I’m Marcurio, the local destruction expert.”

I waved a dismissive hand at him. He looked like the type who would say such things even sober.

“I’m glad we’re making friends already! Now, now, where’s my tankard?”

“Gods, excuse the poor manners, milady. Here, have a drink on your friend. I was hoping to keep him company, but he clearly seems to prefer a female presence.” Marcurio looked frightened at me. _Great job, Sira_. He could’ve helped.

“Wait, no. I’m sorry. I’ve been most rude myself. Let’s all have a drink on me? I’m afraid it might take me a while to catch up to your conversation.”

It didn’t, and the morning after I had a reasonably clear head. Unfortunately, Vilkas’ head wasn’t as pristine, and Marcurio had turned out to be useless as far as rats went. The Ratway was essentially the sewage system beneath Riften, which had somehow become a ruined city within a city, managed by the Thieves Guild.

It was also a complete labyrinth, full of vagrants and filth. The entrance to the Ratway Vaults was supposedly in the deepest section, behind a tavern known as the Ragged Flagon. Fortunately, we managed to avoid getting lost, and even hungover, Vilkas’ prowess could compensate for my useless arm.

We did well not to delay the trip any longer. The Thalmor were there, just at the tavern’s entrance, looking for Esbern. The people drinking there did not even bother leaving their seats while we fought and killed them. Oblivion, what a sad, grim, criminal place – the only place where you could hide from the Thalmor, apparently.

Esbern was a venerable-looking old man who reminded me slightly of Kodlak – a thinner, ragged, hungry Kodlak who could summon a deadly Frost Atronach. I could picture him by a fire, reading silly tales to a grandkid, but somehow he’d ended up living in a sewer, friendless, trusting no one. Please, Talos, don’t let me end up like this.

* * *

We rode back to Riverwood as quickly as Linea and Martin would take us, staying away from main roads. Fortunately, it was still dark when we reached our destination, allowing us to slip inside the Inn without much ruckus – after forcing Vilkas to change into normal clothes behind a barn. He shouldn’t have complained as much, I had to remove my clothes outdoors as well.

The embrace between Delphine and Esbern could’ve been reward enough for the whole trip. They had clearly been great friends, and had a lot to discuss – beyond dragons and the end of the world. I had not thought Delphine capable of such mundane feelings, with her constant paranoia and bossing around, so the sight made me hopeful.

I‘d have friends like that, once everything’s over, right?

Vilkas and I felt as intruders in that reunion, so we stepped outside. I would’ve given every septim I’d earned to have someone who would embrace me like that – so I turned to the only place I could think of where I wasn’t dragonborn or harbinger: Alvor’s workshop.

We were still a couple of hours away from morning, so I just sat by the veranda, staring into the river. I forgot Vilkas was behind me, and he may have even left for a while. I simply waited.

“Alvor, is that you?”

“Sira! What are you doing here? I trust everything’s allright?” He made a quick gesture towards my arm “Do you need to go inside?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. I was just… visiting. I see you got new pelts, need a hand tanning them?”

He seemed to understand.

“Sure. Knives are over there. Let me know if you need any help.”

His features were almost exactly like his nephew’s, but his gestures where a world away.

I got on my knees and began working, focusing on what my fingers were doing. It was easier that way. After a while, I heard Vilkas clearing his throat.

“Looks like your… friend is waiting for you, Sira.” I sensed a slight accusation in Alvor’s tone.

“My Shield-brother is in no great rush, I’m sure.” I lifted my eyes from the tanner. “Alvor, this is Vilkas, a fellow companion” Nothing more “Vilkas, Alvor, Hadvar’s uncle.” I stared at Vilkas, as if saying _Ask me who Hadvar is and I’ll tan you_.

“Ah, from Jorrvaskr! Well met then, sir. I got from Hadvar’s letter that you’ve been made Harbinger, Sira?”

Shit, he’s sent a letter about our last encounter.

“I have, yes”

“Well, no wonder you hadn’t been visiting lately. You must be very busy.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been horribly ungrateful, as I’m sure he said in his letter already.”

“Don’t worry about it. It makes sense that it was awkward. I tried to explain it to my nephew, you know? That he shouldn’t have scared you away, with all those intense emotions about the future… I suppose these are intense times, Sira, but it wasn’t entirely your fault. Now, I’m sure that with access to the Skyforge, you’re not here for steel.”

“Right, exactly” Vilkas said, angrily. Suddenly he looked like old Vilkas. “What are we doing here again? I’m bloody freezing”

“If you’d like to go, **THEN GO!** I’m sure… _they_ are done, so go back to the inn, I don’t care!”

“I’ll wait wherever I want! Your arm is still hurt anyway, and I promised Aela…” He trailed off, as if justifying his staying put. 

“FINE! Do what you will.”

I grabbed a bunch of ingots and began handing them to Alvor, who seemed very adept at ignoring bickering children.

“Now, Sira. You are not fine. Tell me.” Alvor’s voice was calm and comforting, but not emotional.

I was overflowing with emotion, so I bursted.

“I’m scared. There’s dragons that for some reason only I can kill. There’s dragon souls inside me, and there’s a civil war, and vampire attacks, and the bloody Thalmor. And in the middle of all that, there’s me and all these people I keep letting down and angering and lying to.” Tears began to stream down my cheeks. “There’s all these decisions I have to make, and if I make the wrong ones I’ll end up dead, and if I don’t die, I’m this close to ending up alone and friendless, hiding forever from elven assassins in some filthy dungeon… And Hadvar’s angry at me because I didn’t go join him at Solitude, but how was I going to do that?” Hiccups started “My hands are full of conspiracies and curses and Akaviri prophecies, I can’t just join a side in open warfare! Even my best friend is scared of travelling with me.”

Proper rivers came down my cheeks. “I know you guys make a big deal about a glorious death and Sovngarde, but I’m sorry, I don’t want to go there, I want to live! And I don’t want to live in some dark prison or sewer, hiding! And the only person who was there to guide me about all of this, well, he died, so I have no one.”

Suddenly, I was on the floor, crying my eyes out. Must have been a pathetic sight, a scared little harlot complaining of shadows, whining next to a forge. If all shame must be lost, then so be it.

Alvor kneeled next to me.

“I have no one.” I whispered in between sobs.

“Hush, hush. You have us. It’s going to be fine. I promise.” He handed me a rather filthy rag to wipe my face, and hugged me in a protective, delicate, somehow non-sexual way. The way you hug a daughter, I suppose. How would I know?

“Now, I’m not sure I can help you with these Akaviri and Thalmor things, but I can promise it will be fine. You’ll always have Sigrid and me. And Hadvar, of course. He’ll come around, trust me, I’ve known the lad all his life. He’s used to strict plans and to play it safe, but he’ll get over it. He knows it already, you know? That letter he sent with your friend, telling us you’d been injured, he wanted me to promise we’d hide you if needed. And we will.”

Clearly, he was trying to accommodate what little information he had into the most reassuring words. Also, a letter through my friend? Could only be Athis. “So it’ll be fine. By the time you’re done with the dragons, he’ll still be up there soldiering, and everything will be fine. We’re very proud of you, Sira, we won’t let you end up in a sewer.”

“When you write back to him, will you please tell him I’m not sweet? He must forget about it.” I asked

“I will not. I know you’re not sweet. Between you and me, if you were a sweet girl, I’d have sent you away after the first night. He doesn’t need sweet. He knows you’re not, trust me. It just pleases him to think you are. Let him. We all need something to keep us going, in these grim times.”

* * *

Back at the inn, some rest and a greasy stew finished restoring all the inner injuries that Alvor didn’t erase with his disinterested gestures. Six months ago, I would’ve stayed well away from people like that, as selflessness is too unpredictable and near-impossible to manipulate. Now, I would’ve placed my life in his hands.

Alas, there was now another expedition to arrange, this time into the Reach. While waiting for Esbern and Delphine to come out, Vilkas and I shared an incredibly tense meal – all the complicity of the past few days was seemingly shattered during that little shouting match.

My turn to apologise, I guess. I placed my hand on top of his.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier. It was immature of me, especially in front of a stranger. I won’t do it again.”

Of course I will, if you provoke me, but just pretend to believe me.

“It’s fine. Emotional moment for you and all. Shouldn’t have yelled back.” He grunted, and continued eating in silence. It will wear off.

At last, he spoke again, still hurt.

“Why didn’t you ever said anything? We’ve been teasing you about your farmboy for months, because we thought he was just some kid you barely knew. You never mentioned you were betrothed.”

I raised an eyebrow. Playing dumb didn’t suit him.

“That’s because we aren’t. And I do know him very little – what are you getting at?”

“Going to his uncle for fatherly advice speaks of a longer acquaintance. The whole conversation, in general, implied stronger feelings than just the strangers who supposedly took you in after Helgen.”

Ugh, I hate it that Smart Twin is so smart.

“Right. Is that why you look like I took your sweet roll away? Did I break your black, wolfish heart by making it look like I was available?”

A sarcastic question if there ever was one – and yet he blushed.

“Because I am available, after all. Single and free to mingle. His family, though… I have nobody else in the province, remember?”

“Right, I heard you before. Except you have us: we are your siblings, your sword and shield.”

Shit, when he wants to, his voice could evoke peaches and cream.

“Will you sacrifice your war paint for the sake of emphasis?”

Our laughter came out loud, unapologetic, and synchronised.


	24. Hearth, Home, and Mismanagement

Exhaustion was getting in the way of our usual chats. My limbs felt too heavy to chase any deer around, and even Aela seemed hesitant to bother any bears who did not attack us first. It would’ve been easier to lay down and rest for what was left of the day, but Jorrvaskr awaited, with all its additional obligations.

Better to just keep walking. The stiff pain on my legs every time I moved them were turning out to be the least unpleasant part of this trip.

The expedition to Sky Haven Temple had been particularly rocky, even for our standards. While we knew the area was infested with Forsworn, we certainly didn’t expect to find an Elder Dragon and octopus men guarding their camp. Delphine and Esbern were both excellent fighters, and if it weren’t for them – and specifically, to Esbern’s superior knowledge of dragon lore, which allowed us to tell a “common” green dragon apart from its more dangerous blood cousins or “elder” cousins – we would be dead five times already.

Well, at least two good things had come out of the experience: Delphine and Aela had finally managed to respect each other as fighters and allies, and the Blades now had proper Headquarters. They could even begin recruiting now, so long as the Thalmor remained in the dark about it. On the other hand, I had gotten a new errand: to go back to the Greybeards and learn a dragon-killing shout, just because it was depicted on a relief thousands of years old. Preventing the end-times is all about useless detours and obscure clues.

At last, the sun began to hide behind nearby mountains, and we could see the bridge not far ahead. Aela stopped and turned at me:

“This clear’s not big enough for a full camp, but it will have to do. It’s getting dark, and the way it’s going, the Dark Brotherhood awaits on the other side of that bridge.”

“Right, may as well catch us well rested.” I replied, dumping my rucksack on the ground.

“Did you get a good look at the octopus men’s gear earlier?” She asked, while arranging the logs for a fire.

“I did. Nothing useful, I don’t expect anyone’s interested in buying such horrible masks and robes. One of them held written orders, but there were vague as fuck.” I was more concerned with roasting some salmon steaks than with the octopus people.

“Uh? Orders? Can I see them?”

“If you want. Basically some person called Miraak, out there in Solthsteim, thinks I must die.”

“Solthsteim? That’s in… Morrowind.”

“A volcanic wasteland where air is toxic and nothing grows. Sounds like fun, would explain their horrid fashion sense.”

“Ah, Sira. It takes you to laugh at yet another group of killers. Did the old man have any information on anything?”

“Of course he didn’t. He’s been locked in a sewer for the past 20 years.”

“No wonder he was so excited to have a temple all to himself.” She sat on top of a rock and began peeling potatoes.

“Four seem enough to you, Sira?”

“Four each?”

“Don’t be a pig. I’ll make it six, total, otherwise you won’t be able to move tomorrow. I was thinking…”

“Shit, that’s dangerous.”

“Sod off. I’m trying to be serious.” She couldn’t hide her smile, though. She rarely seemed to smile anymore. “Well, two Blades hardly seem useful, it will take them ages to just clean that big place. Clearly you could use real help out there, for the Elder and Ancient dragons Esbern mentioned. So I asked Delphine what she would need to make the Blades into a real force again…”

“You talked to Delphine? Without me forcing you?”

“Meh, exhaustion does weird things to sense. She said that with five members, it would be enough to form a corps that would make a difference – take some errands off your back. The original Blades served the Dragonborn, you know?”

“Interesting thought. I like people serving me.”

“Would be funnier if I didn’t know it to be true.” We laughed. “So we would wear Blades armour and live at the temple, helping you hunt dragons.”

“Wait. WE? You got to be fucking kidding me. You’re leaving me for Delphine?”

“Sira, listen to me. First of all, I’m not leaving you – the Blades serve you! Delphine will never be my favourite person, it’s true, but her cause is good. Honourable, even. I don’t know, maybe you were too lost thinking about your new errands and tasks, but back at the temple, when Esbern was examining those reliefs…”

She failed to repress a shudder, and I had to look away from her. What I would’ve given to have her not see that prophecy!

“I never cared for history, but it’s thanks to the Blades and many of its past members that we even exist now. It’s a worthy purpose to give your life to, one that, frankly, I no longer feel with the Companions. Not because you’re not leading us properly – all things considered, end times looming and all, you’re doing great.”

“Sure I am. It’s just lost its purpose to you.”

“You know what… who I’m talking about. We only get one other half in our lives, and if I have to keep living next to his empty room, I’ll go mad. Especially now that you use the Harbinger’s, and are never around anyway.”

She had a point. I’d known she wasn’t happy for a while, and I was flattered that she would choose to leave in a way that would still allow us to work together… but Jorrvaskr was home, and it wouldn’t be as much without her.

“I… don’t want you to leave. It’s not my decision, of course, not as Harbinger at least. I only get to guide and counsel. As a friend, though, please don’t leave just now. The idea of you giving your life to anything, really… You’re kin to me, like you Nords like to say.”

“Aye, I know, I’ll try to stay alive enough to attend your wedding with farmboy.”

“Well, I am not marrying farmboy, thank you very much. You just doomed yourself to immortality.”

“Ha! I’ll believe it when I see it!”

“Listen, technically that’s impossible. You cannot see me not do something. In such cases, the burden of proof falls on you, once it does happen. Which will not.”

“Ah, such fancy words. Looks like someone’s been growing close to the librarian.”

“Please don’t leave yet. Seriously. You know we’re short of hands already, and I know I haven’t been around enough – but just let me get a couple new recruits first. The war is making it hard enough, you know? All capable warriors are taking sides, one way or the other, and there’s rumours of drafting, also from both sides. And yet people need their own swords, and our mead hall needs food and fire – supplies are getting more expensive too, you know?”

“I know all that, trust me. I’ve been at Jorrvaskr a lot more often that you have, lately.” She blew on her baked potato, trying to cool it down. “But if what you’re saying is you can’t bear to part with me right away, well… I won’t refuse a friend.”

“In that case, trust me, and put some chives in the butter with that potato. It will make it a thousand times better. Even Jarl Siddgeir liked it, and the man fancies himself an exquisite palate.”

“Speaking of fancy, sleazy palates, are we going back through Falkreath? It would require an early morning tomorrow.”

“I was thinking we could do Rorikstead, actually. I happen to know someone there with a hunger for adventure and no financial means to hunt it on his own.”

* * *

“So, Erik? Erik the Slayer? How old are you?”

Oh, Farkas was as good as his brother at playing the intimidation game.

“He’s made of decent warrior stock, mate. He killed two bandits on his own, just on the way here, and didn’t complain of fatigue once. That should count as an initial test, shouldn’t it? He’s better than me when I first arrived.”

“That is not a strong recommendation, little one. Still, if Aela saw it too...”

“I did. Nadja will have to work on his shield balance before his Trial, but the man’s solid.”

“In that case, welcome home, Slayer. This way to your new bunk.”

“Excellent! Sira, thank you so much for the opportunity. For Stendarr, I never thought this would actually happen.” If he had been too frightened to talk before, now he was likely to never shut up.

“Go, mate, go! Don’t keep Farkas waiting.”

I turned to Aela and winked at her.

“Should we warn him about Evil Twin? Or let him learn on his own?”

“I’m all for the second, although we may have to miss the show.”

If I ever have to pick my favourite quality of Aela’s, it would definitely be that fun sadistic streak. I’d almost be willing to marry her, just to prove her wrong about farmboy, if it weren’t for the small detail that I don’t like women like that. Believe me, I’ve tried.

At the moment, sadly, I had much more urgent things to take care of. The last time I’d been here, after Riften, I forgot to assign several jobs, assuming Vilkas would continue to do so – but he didn’t, because the real Harbinger was around. Meanwhile, while Vilkas and I were away, the ill-will between Njada and Torvar began to get out of hand, and now it was up to the Circle to call for a return to discipline. And when I say the Circle, it seems like I should say the Harbinger, as Aela and Farkas, who had witnessed several incidents, chose not to intervene thinking it would be overstepping their boundaries.

Essentially, a ghost handed me a respected institution with over a thousand years of history, and in less than three months I was letting it sink into anarchy. Another point for Sira’s list of legendary accomplishments. The bards should include an extra line about missing money in that stupid new song they sang about my coming.

Even though we had arrived in Jorrvaskr in the morning, by the time Vilkas and I finished sorting all the paperwork, dinner had passed. I am not a nice person when I’m hungry – I’m never nice, really, but a rumbling stomach makes the dragon come out with fury. 

Tilma had dropped two plates of boiled cream tarts throughout the afternoon, which did not reuly count as real food.

“I’m done with this shit. Let’s go hunting.” I said, dropping my quill, only half-joking.

Vilkas frowned at me.

“I’m keeping to my original purpose to avoid transformations. If Aela and you…”

We had, a couple of times, but that was none of his business, nor the topic at hand.

“It was a joke, genius. I’m just hungry. I’d eat Linea right now. Surely you are as well?”

“You smell delicious.”

“Should I open the door so there’s witnesses? The Drunken Hunstman may still have food, they do late suppers. Let’s go.”

“No. I’ll go on my own. I’ll bring you something.”

“Well, isn’t that nice of you? Do you need to borrow money?”

“No, I just wasn’t kidding when I said you smell appetizingly. Any preferences?”

“Anything but venison.”

He nodded in agreement, and began to head out.

“Wait, Vilkas?”

“Aye?”

“If it’s that hard for you… I mean, whenever you’re ready, we’ll go back to Ysgramor’s tomb. Just say when, and I’ll go with you.”

He gave a deep sigh. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll let you know. Soon.” He gave me a weak smile. “We’ll go together.”

What, now he’s mocking me because I won’t go alone? _I’d go alone._

As soon as he was out, I put my legs up the desk and began rubbing my eyes, then stretching my fingers. My poor eyesight made such paperwork sessions harder than they should be, but at least I could use that as an excuse for my slow, tense handwriting. Since I’d never had half the formal education I pretended to, the sort of neat penmanship required for keeping records and adding figures was always quick to cramp my index and middle fingers. At least life made me quick when thinking about numbers, prices, and profits – so my cover was relatively clear.

The aggressive knocking on my door was not accompanied by the smell of anything edible. Hope was useless, clearly.

“Come in.”

Athis walked in.

“Got any guidance for me, Harbinger?”

“Of course I do. Stay away from dragon dung, it is incredibly flammable.”

“I actually had a topic in mind.”

“Tough luck, since that is all I can give you today.”

He sat in the chair in front of me and stared at me, as if daring me to run.

“While you were away,” Bad start, every report that opened with me being away was bound to be bad. “Vilkas asked me about Solitude. Twice. The first time I dodged it, the second one I couldn’t. So I tried with a vague version, that the bandits we were supposed to kill had a necromancer protecting them. I didn’t even get to explain how you got injured, he cut me off and asked about your encounter with the soldier boy.”

“I believe his accepted nickname is farmboy, Athis.”

“Do I look like I care about your base urges? Why is he asking about that? Better yet, why is he asking so much about Solitude in general?”

The impulse to mock was too strong, but I contained it. Humiliation is an old friend, of course he wouldn’t want his adopted family to know how he’d been treated as a criminal.

“It seems he noticed an odd vibe between us. He asked me too, so I said it was because I was embarrassed about my encounter with farmboy.” I shrugged. “He seemed all too eager to believe I had been acting like a child.”

“Not the angle I would take on the matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, little ice brain.” Asshole. “Why the lie? You don’t want to share Dawnbreaker?”

“You’re welcome to it. I just got a new legendary sword at the Reach. It just didn’t feel like my story to tell. Also, you know necromancers are a delicate topic for the twins.” He stared at me, in a similar way I do when I want to catch a lying twitch of the mouth or sneaky eye movement. Pity he’s dealing with a master: my wolf smells lies and my dragon eats liars, bitch.

“I appreciate your discretion. Here I was concerned you were scared or distrustful of me. Or worse, embarrassed of our friendship.”

My heart began racing. I tried really hard not to blink, for it would bring back the memory of his possessed face.

“I _was_ embarrassed when he asked if we’d accidentally fallen on the same bed during the trip.” That was true, at least.

“Oh, spare me the monstrosity of a Nord’s twisted mind. Tsk tsk, poor boy.” He walked away, shaking his head.


	25. Clear skies offer no refuge

Yes, I had felt like Delphine’s tool at some point, fetching her information and allies when I could’ve been slaying dragons and making money. Surely, when her lips curved the wrong way at any mention of the Greybeards, I attributed it to her general distrust of everything that isn’t her. But to have Arngeir so openly accuse me of letting myself be used by her?

“Now, thanks to the Blades, you have questions only Paarthurnax can answer.”

As if I were unable to get myself entangled in problems beyond my skill level without help. Fuck that old man.

Of course, he was not familiar with the fabled Dragonrend shout. There was likely only one living person who may know the words to force a dragon to the ground: Arngeir’s mysterious leader, Paarthunax, who had sequestered himself atop the highest peak in Skyrim, protected by a thick fog of bewitched frozen clouds who would kill anyone who didn’t know the right shout to clear them.

As if he had never sent me on a fool’s errand, either. Well, now I’m taking this to your spiritual leader. I’m the hero of legends, not some child whose custody has to be fought over, as if I were completely unable to make my own rational decisions.

If I could only keep my mind revolving around my grievances against Arngeir and Delphine, or the compulsive, harsh coughing brought about by the constant shouting, I could avoid dwelling on the fury of them having made me leave Aela behind, waiting in High Hrothgar’s courtyard.

Her face of relief was probably the worst part of it all. Like most Nords, she had always despised magic, but she had also been wary of the Greybeards from the start - which made little sense, sinde they were meant to be highly respected. Moreover, on our last visit to High Hrothgar, my initiation ceremony frightened her enough that she stopped talking to me for a couple of days. Suddenly her newfound tolerance for Delphine made sense, and felt slightly like betrayal.

On the other hand, it did not feel like an ambush, not the way finding an ancient dragon atop that mountain did. My bow immediately found its way into my arms, my strongest glass arrow pointed straight at its belly.

The dragon did not Shout at me – it was more like a whisper, as if blowing air to cool down a spoonful of broth. Soothing, clearly unaggressive, but hard enough to make me drop my bow.

“Greetings, _wunduniik_. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my _strunmah_ ... my mountain?”

Seriously? I’m supposed to tell a dragon that I need the shout to kill dragons?

“I’m here to learn the Dragonrend shout. Can you teach me?”

Instead of killing me, he asked me to observe formalities. He Shouted fire at a wall, and wanted me to Shout back. And I thought the Embassy business counted as suicide. Of course, if Paarthurnax wanted to eat me, he would do so anyway as soon as I turned around.

The dragonblood runs strong in me, he said. I think he meant it as a compliment. He still questioned my motives – why did I want to kill Alduin? Why did I have to do it? Somehow, keeping the world alive just so I could have a manor with servants seemed to him like insufficient justification for all this trouble. What’s worse, it was. Strange that it would take _tinvaak_ with a huge thousands-years-old monster to realise it.

There’s people whose suffering wounds me now. There’s a comfort in doing things that alter people’s lives – I am now an agent of change, not a pawn of low birth or crappy luck. It feels bloody good to be so.

Paarthurnax seemed satisfied by that. Small consolation for the fact that he did not know Dragonrend either. However, he did seem to have some semblance of a plan about how to learn it – by using an Elder Scroll through a Time Wound, to travel back to those who invented it in the first place, thousands of years ago.

He did not look to be fond of Skooma. Near impossible as it seemed, finding an long-lost and immensely powerful magical artefact made sense when it came to time travel, in a way that fetching a horn or reopening an old temple never did. Of course it would be no foolish errand. Right?

* * *

As soon as I reached home, I hugged Farkas as if it was my job to keep him from disappearing. He giggled, only partially because of the weird gesture Aela made behind me, seemingly implying I have lost my mind.

“Uuugh, little one. Let me breath!”

“I don’t feel like it.” I replied.

“Don’t argue with her – she’s lost her last hinge while atop a cursed mountain. She’s now more stubborn than your brother and less coherent than Torvar last First Planting festival.” Aela pointed out, before dumping her sweaty furs on a nearby chair.

“Well, the brains of this operation are off to a long shower. It’s getting dreadfully hot again, the return trip has been unbearable.” She continues, and immediately left us.

“Go away, you stink.” I yelled, before turning back to Farkas “Who would’ve known the tough Aela would practically melt at the first ray of sunshine?”

“She’s not the only one. I’m dying to go for a swim. This summer will scorch everyone.”

“My dear, that’d be Alduin. Good thing I now have a brand new plan against him, and no way to go around it. Is your smaller half around?”

“No, he’s gone East for some reason. Should be back in a couple of days. Am I any good?”

Sure, why not. He had probably never heard of an Elder Scroll, but he was prone to abrupt bouts of social wisdom that could come in handy. Explaining it all to someone new would make me feel less stupid about it, at least.

“Are you up to a nice chat out in the back porch or would that endanger your Nordic icy heart?”

“Sure. It’s usually my brain that’s the problem, I hear.” He jested, as we crossed the hall. It was always sweet to hear him be self-deprecating about it.

“It’s contagious, too. Athis called me so the other day.”

“Then you should’ve given him your fist.”

“I was too tired. And hungry. He had sweet rolls”

We chose two chairs near the edge of the porch, so I could sunbathe while he had easy access to the apple basket.

“You always look tired now, little one. Is it the beast blood?”

“For once, it’s not, or at least, it’s not just the beast blood. It’s one thing to get restless sleep, it’s different if you simply don’t sleep. I have too much to think about. Jorrvaskr crumbles around us…”

“It does not. The world does, with the war and the dragons and all. We’re just part of it.”

“You really are too nice for your own good. Anyway, an ancient dragon told me I need to get an Elder scroll, and relatively young monk said I should go to the College of Winterhold to see if they have one around – even though nobody’s seen one for centuries, apparently it’s worth the shot.”

“Shit.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“What’s an Older Scroll? How old does it have to be?”

I chose to act as if he were joking.

“Apparently, an Elder Scroll, or Kel, is an artefact from outside time. It does not exist, but it has always existed. Thousands of years ago, the heroes who originally slayed Alduin used one to create a special Shout, and then instead of killing him, they banished him through time to some unknown point of the future – that is, now, apparently. I’m too find this Kel and take it back to the place where they broke time, to go look for them and learn this shout, so I can finish the job they wrecked.”

“Uh. How do you know all this?”

“From the really old dragon, who’s Alduin’s younger brother, apparently.”

He gave me soft, sad stare.

“I’m not mocking you, Farkas. This is why Aela thinks I’ve gone gaga.”

“Did she not talk to this dragon?”

“She was not allowed up the Throat of the World by the bloody monks.”

“Well, no wonder you can’t sleep, little one. Wine?”

“Please. You don’t think I’m crazy too, do you?”

“Nah. Not any crazier than everyone else lately, at least. Njada’s come back from Falkreath saying she found a talking dog. We may want to look into that.”

“If it’s a well-behaved pup and she teaches it to do its business outside, I don’t mind. How fares our new slayer?”

“Nicely. Vilkas said he’s to be sent for his trial next week. Will you stay for it?”

“Sure. It’s not like I’ve got any urgent clue to follow. I have no idea where to start, actually, so I think I’ll just be Harbinging until the world ends.”

“Maybe my brother will know.” He scratched his stubble a bit. “This is serious business, Sira. I’ll be honest with ya, I don’t like it one bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“A necromancer possessing Athis? Elder artifacts that break time? The College of Winterhold? We are warriors, little one. This is not our field. The Companions try to stay away from magic.”

“I’m not just a warrior, though. I’m Dragonborn. Call me pompous if you will, but I will have to figure out a way to enrol and investigate.”

“If you must, you must. The real shame would be to run from your duty, right? Maybe Belethor has one of those scrolls?”

We both laughed at the thought. If asked, Belethor was likely to dye a normal scroll and then sell it for the price of Dragonsreach.

“How did you know about Athis?” I asked, with a more somber tone.

“He told me the other night. I think he needed to tell someone, or thought I wouldn’t understand enough to mind. He’s feeling horribly guilty about it, thinks you hate him and all. You know he’s not close to the others.”

“I don’t hate him. I need to find a way to prove it to him, though. Should be the easiest task on my list, right?”

“Aye. Now, if you want something more hands-on, there’s some Redguards in town looking for a woman.”

My ale did not go through my nose, but it came close. It took Farkas a few seconds before realising why.

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant.” He started blushing fiercely. “I didn’t mean hands-on-you.”

“You’ll have to provide me with a better description before I decide where their hands are going.” I kept laughing. Damn, it’s been too long since my last visit to Falkreath.

“No, no. Be serious!”

“Oh, but you are lovely when blushing.” 

“That I am. They’re looking for a specific woman. They were Alik’r warriors, they said, and were asking around the market stalls. A Redguard woman who’s a fugitive, apparently. I thought maybe they could contract with us.”

I’d seen Alik’r before once, back in Anvil – briefly and from a distance. They had a fierce reputation, so pickpocketing them had been out of the question.

“Could be worth it. The Alik’r are mercenaries themselves, buth highly reputed, so they may not be interested in subcontracting, though, unless they really need the help. Thanks for the tip, mate”

“You’re welcome, little one. If you want to send them a message, please send Ria. Think of poor farmboy.”

“Oh, I’d be thinking of him the whole time! What do you take me for?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a filler chapter, yes, but I just spent the whole weekend questing with Farkas.


	26. You better not run

I spent three days in the stifling peace of Kodlak’s, I mean, my studio, crunching numbers and arranging invoices neatly. No matter how things went once Vilkas returned, nobody would be able to accuse me of leaving a mess behind. Whatever little free time, I spent with Athis hitting the library, researching the fabled College of Winterhold – my only clue for locating the Elder Scroll. 

If I could’ve, I would have postponed Vilkas’ return two more days, or two more weeks. I needed his advice even more than I needed his assistance, but neither would come without a fair deal of scowls and fist-banging. We’d come a long way since our initial brawls, so much that Kodlak would’ve been proud – which made it all the harder.

The fact that I had begun caring about his opinion only made it worse.

I figured my best choice was to make sure we had a way to sublimate verbal aggression into more acceptable physicality, so the day after he returned, I asked him to train with me.

“Clearly I’m still unable to block properly with a two-handed weapon, and that’s all your fault. Fix it.” I said, as he joined me in the yard.

“That seems to imply that you know how to block with a one-handed weapon, which you don’t.” He retorted, right before taking his first unannounced swing.

“Right, but that’s Njada’s fault.”

“So long as it’s not yours… no, no, try switching your wrist like this. One swift movement.”

“Of course, my opponent needs a chance to break it with just one blow.”

“Only if your feet are slow, and yours aren’t. Let’s try again.”

The dance continued for a while, with me repeatedly escaping death only because we were using wood. Eventually, on a stroke of genius, I managed to land a succession of blows and throw him off his feet.

“Right, I think I get the wrist issue now. I’m just used to always keep them facing opposite directions. Takes a while to adjust your reflexes, I guess.” I extended my left hand to help him up.

“Practice does it. You should probably stick to your usual berserking flurry, if you’re facing a delicate situation.”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to overspecialise?”

He propped himself against the wall.

“No, overspecialisation is one thing – but for the curtain call, you should use your best act. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t offer a decent side show.”

“Ah, been hanging out with a bard on the road? Maybe a pretty doe-eyed girl sung of your courage?” I teased. He chuckled.

“One tried, but then got started with The Dragonborn Comes, so I stopped paying any attention.”

“Of course. The real Dragonborn is getting it all. As long as we’re on the topic of the mighty me and keeping to your best act, I don’t know if you had any chance to talk to your brother yet?”

His face dropped slightly.

“I knew there was a hidden purpose behind training. He did mention you were desperate for directions.”

_And coming._ No, Sira, don’t say that. Why am I even thinking about it? Damn Farkas and his Alik’r warriors.

“That damn gossip. He’s right, though. I am a bit…stuck with the dragon business. My best act is not going to cut it.”

I told him about my conversation with Paarthurnax and Farkas’ reaction to the suggestion of visiting the College of Winterhold – but I left out any details about Aela’s desire to join the Blades.

He rubbed his chin for several minutes after I finished talking. I sensed no mockery or disdain in him, for once, but his silence was unnerving.

“If the College of Winterhold is the only clue, then you’ll have to enroll there. You do know magic, I believe? I’ve seen you use healing spells.”

“Right. I also know some minor destruction spells – but very minor. Far from what would be required to enter the College, from what I’ve read. They test illusion and conjuration, that’s far more complicated.”

“Well, I suppose getting my brother to go as your Shield Brother will be of little use, then.”

“Is that it, Legate Obvious?”

“Remember the first time Kodlak sent us on a job together? Remember what he told you before?”

“Of course I do. ‘Try not to provoke Vilkas too much, don’t fight fire with fire’.”

“Right. I think the important part is the last one. Farkas is muscle, as am I, and you, and everyone here in a way. For a place like Winterhold, you need to broaden your skill set, not strengthen it – and you won’t find that here. We’re all a bit redundant, in a sense. We need to think outside the box.”

“Right. And I feel like we’ll go back to that issue shortly. In the meantime, any ideas on how to minimise the shame of being the first Harbinger to abandon the post?”

His face abruptly changed colour, and his heartbeat became deafening. Bad start.

“Abandon the post? That’s your brilliant solution?” He hollered.

“Well, if you think about it…”

“No, you think! You shameless, irresponsible child... You ought to be fucking kidding me!”

Of course he would react like that. Remain calm, Sira. Don’t engage.

Hold his stupid cheeks and mouth together so he’ll let you speak.

“Listen to me for once in your life. This is not sustainable. The place is falling apart on me. It’s getting hard enough to manage as it is, with very little sleep on my side and a mountain of work that doesn’t get done.” He struggled to release his face from my hands. “If I’m to go away for months to Winterhold – and then Divines know where, to hunt for an artifact that’s been lost for centuries, then _someone else_ needs to run this place.” He kept struggling, but mostly for the show. Stubborn arse. “I’ll have Alduin to take care of afterwards, and let’s face it, I may not come back from _that_ …”

“Shut up, Sira. What the fuck? Don’t talk like that. You’re not going to... just shut the fuck up. And don’t you dare touch me, ever again.”

In a way, his anger was touching – but of little use to me.

“Will you listen without being physically restrained then? I’m asking for your help because you’re supposed to be the smart one here! Now, you can help me find a way to do this with as little dishonour for everyone involved as possible, or you can tell everyone that I’m a lazy coward and bask in being right. It doesn’t matter, you still win, don’t you see? You get rid of me and you become Harbinger. You’ll have what you want.”

“That’s cruel of you, Sira.”

“I’m cruel? Who’s shutting the other up?”

“You want to leave _us_ just now that...As if all I want is to be Harbinger? You think me so petty?”

His voice trembled in anger. This could be going better.

“I think you think you’ll do it better than me! And let’s face it, you would! If I don’t leave, I dishonour us all anyway by escaping my duty. You’ll finally be free of my entitled ass and snobby jewellery!”

I was expecting him to challenge me to a duel or to throw a bottle at my head. Not to hug me.

“Oy! Surely we agreed no more physical restraints?” I asked, amazed.

“It’s called a hug. You do it for friends. Now, you know I don’t think like that anymore, do you?”

“I suspected.” _But now I knew._ Had he ever called me friend before? “Will you help me find a way to have a home to come back to after the dragons are gone?”

“Of course. I’m sorry I reacted like that. This is why Kodlak decided I shouldn’t be in charge, you know?”

“Right, but you were nonetheless next in line.”

Is that my hair he’s sniffing?

“However, as you said, there’s no precedent for quitters. There is a precedent for a stand-in if the organization’s allegiances are compromised, though, back from the schism of the Second era Interregnum.”

I turned up to face him. Still under his hug, it placed our faces disturbingly close, but it was best not to acknowledge it.

“How do you know these things?”

“I’m the smart one here, remember? Either way, this was established during the prolonged war in Skyrim that preceded the Three Banners War. A Harbinger got called back to his native Hold and put in charge of an army. He left a stand-in to ensure not only the Companion’s due management, but also their neutrality. This is actually how the Circle was created – as a way to guarantee the stand in would return the title once the original Harbinger came back.”

“So I can leave a stand-in, then? And the Circle would make sure I’m still welcome here once it’s all over?”

“I would have to look up the details, to make sure we meet whatever requirements for extreme situations.”

“The return of Alduin and the end times may not be enough, you think?”

“Keep in mind the point here was to preserve the guild’s neutrality. Paradoxically, if you simply were being called by the Legion, it would be simpler.”

“Cursed be the day when civil war becomes the easy threat at hand. Either way, I'd rather not go over my relationship with the Legion right now.”

Not when you're hugging me so tight that I can feel the way your breathing changed at that mention. When did this happen?

“Neither do I. So Aela, for example, could be your stand in, and we would need an extra member on the Circle, as it was stipulated it had to be at least three people left to restrain the stand-in’s ambition…”

“Athis. It would have to be him. We’ll need to send Erik on his final trial as soon as possible, and we’ll raise Athis. Now, how is the stand-in chosen? Does the whole Circle vote or do I designate?”

“You designate. That’s why I thought of Aela.”

“Riiiiight, but I don’t think she will want to do it.” She wants to join the Blades, damn it. Probably not the right time to mention it – it was getting dark, and his arms were warm. “You do it.”

“Sira, you don’t have…”

“The plan was always to dump all the work on you anyway, if only out of spite." I smirked. "You shall drown in paperwork and think of me.”

“Fine. As long as you return soon and release me.”

“You’re an odd one, aren’t you? I almost want us to go back to yelling at each other.”

“Now, about Athis…” He turned away from me, and my nose got overwhelmed with the scent of sadness. “I agree he’s better qualified than Ria or Torvar… I just need to know. Is there really nothing going on between the two of you?”

“What, you think that’s influencing my decision?”

“It could be interpreted like that, even if he is the most accomplished one of them.”

I slipped away from his arms. Fuck the cold. Way to ruin the moment.

“What, would you rather raise Njada?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

His eyebrow began pulsing. Visceral reaction. Interesting. This is not really about a spot on the Circle.

“Nothing. I’m sorry I asked, it’s none of my business.”

“So?”

“So no, and it would be none of your business anyway. You said yourself he is the most accomplished one, anything beyond that is either a moot point or petty fixations."

"Petty fixations?"

"Shared by nobody else in Jorrvaskr, in case you haven't noticed. Unadultered paranoia."

The air grew tense again, taking us back to that day at Valtheim Towers. He sniffed at me, and I let him. I had nothing to hide from that frustrating brute, for once.

“Are you done? Can we go back to the next problem on the agenda? This hot piece of muscle needs to get accepted into the College.”

“And it won’t, not without a few months of training. We don’t have a few months, sadly. What if you buy yourself a student, though?”

“Oh, I’m sure Belethor stocks one at his store. His sister, maybe.”

“Not all mercenaries carry a sword and a shield. There are mage hirelings too. Let’s say you hire one for the privilege to be his or her bodyguard while they study there.”

“Why would an apprentice mage need a bodyguard?”

“Because we nords distrust magic and he’s afraid of being assaulted by locals. Maybe he’s also an Imperial and is wary of the Civil War? Could even come from a rich family and afraid of abduction? I don’t know, you’re the schemer, Sira.”

“Yes, that surely sounds like my specialty, not yours. I suppose if I could impersonate a Jarl’s mistress to find my way into the Thalmor Embassy, then I can be common sellsword for a few months.”

A deep frown flashed on his face, but this time he had enough restraint to quickly switch to raised eyebrow.

“Really? That’s what you were doing up in Solitude?”

“Aye, that. And shagging Athis, apparently. Give me some bloody credit, will ya? Now, you sound like you’ve already got a mage in mind.”

“He seemed like a nice chap. Remember him? Marcurio, from Riften?”

“That’s sweet. You must be dying to see him again. He liked you, that one.”

“He has good taste, doesn’t he?”

“No, clearly he’s blind.”

He placed his arm around me again.

“You know, you’re starting to sound more like a Nord now. Let’s hope you don't lose your new accent now, while you're with him. We’ll have to work on that when you come back.”

“We will, my Harbinger. Will I also be hit repeatedly in the head? It would speed up the process remarkably.” I retorted, trying to sound as southern as possible.

“Only if you give me reason.”

"I hope I never stop giving you reason.


	27. Tugging at my heartstrings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for an Elder Scrolls forces Sira away from her pack, but opens new opportunities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve taken some liberties with Tamriel’s social mores, especially regarding regional attitudes towards homosexuality. Skyrim is the first game to include the marriage mechanic, and I found nothing about it regarding Oblivion and Morrowind. However, M’aiq the liar is fond of saying that “the people of Skyrim are more open-minded about certain things than people in other places” – which is believed to refer to either gay marriage, necromancy, or the availability of skooma.  
> Either way, I’m going slightly AU here and determining that, even if gay marriage is legal all over the Empire, people in Cyrodiil frown upon it and are more likely to discriminate. A lot of Sira's personality is based on the fact that she comes from a place with much more rigid gender roles, so it fits.

As much as I tried to keep the details of my upcoming quest to myself, enough of them knew that I trusted gossip would reach Falkreath in two weeks’ time. If anyone thought me a coward for leaving, or questioned whether getting involved with _mages and such milkdrinkers_ was truly necessary, they chose to say nothing. They didn’t need to know in order to make my departure feel unexpectedly painful.

Less than a year before, leaving Anvil forever had been a matter of selling anything too uncomfortable to carry and settle some accounts. Now, leaving Jorrvaskr for just a few months and to hand over the reins of its management felt more like leaving a couple of fingers behind. Jorrvaskr was home: it had my alchemy table, my trophies and mementos, stashes of valuables and candy conveniently hidden where I’d chosen. I could find my way from bed to breakfast table without opening my eyes, or follow my insticts to Aela’s complicity, Farkas’ laughter, or Athis’ sarcasm. 

Even Vilkas, a pompous arse who despises the very air I breathe, I could trust with my life. After months of sharing bloodlust, grief, insomnia, and responsibilities, I’d come to see the wolf as an ally; thanks to our last verbal spar, I knew now that he thought similarly of me. Genuine friendship didn’t exactly catch me with both feet on the ground, I suppose.

Yes, that’s must be it, that’s why I found it so odd when he offered to come with me to Riften and help negotiate with the mage hireling. Not because I was expecting such an offer from Aela, who instead chose to pretend she had heard nothing regarding my departure.

At least, I was right about the mage: Marcurio was clearly smitten with Vilkas. It would’ve been cute, had he managed to hide his disappointment better after I showed up. Nonetheless, the man was brilliant and witty – not to mention handsome. If he had only been a tad bit taller, I’m sure we could’ve impersonated an elegant couple from the capital. It’s not like looking classy in Riften is hard at all. As it was, the top of his head was slightly too visible from my point of view.

We found him exactly where we did the first time, at the Bee and Barb. After their joyful reunion and a couple of ales, Vilkas took off to the general goods store and left me to negotiate. He told us his standard fee was 500 septims, for up to a month. I offered him 350 with the guarantee of six month’s work – but this was a fellow Imperial I was talking about. We settled on 400 a month, plus a fifth of any loot we would come across, so long as he looked after the replacement of his own gear.

“Oh, and for the record, I’m a wizard, not a pack mule. I’m not carrying your loot as well as mine.”

“As if you could, with such puny skinny arms… suit yourself. I had some nice light armour waiting for you, enchanted to make your destructions spells stronger, but if you won’t use it…”

We’d run across a dragon and a party of vampires on the way, which counted as a quiet trip for us. Vampire armour was highly expensive, and often didn’t feel like armour at all, making it ideal for those who aren’t used to moving around in scales or leather.

“Well, so long as it’s light, I mean.”

I grinned and handed him a package.

“Here you go. You’ll be a very stylish pack mule, to be sure.”

“Interesting material. I was expecting leather, to be honest. It looks sleek, and powerfully-enchanted too! I’ll take it you didn’t do it yourself?”

“Of course not.”

“Wait, is this blood on the sleeve? Where on Nirn did you get this piece?”

“A dead vampire.”

He didn’t look shocked. Good, I can’t handle people with weak stomachs.

“Right. Rule number one: don’t ask too many questions.”

“You clearly are smart. Let’s go, Vilkas said we should meet him by the gates.”

“Sure you can’t convince him to come with us?”

And I thought farmboy was a needy admirer.

* * *

We only got a few hours of unremarkable travel – spiced up by a lively and only slightly indiscreet exchange of personal questions – before a group of Stormcloak soldiers determined our driver looked fit enough to fight for Skyrim’s independence. Therefore, they decided it was their obligation to conscript both old Sigaar and his horse, leaving us with a free carriage just north of Mistwatch… so long as we pulled it ourselves, it seems.

After we were done pushing the cart to a secluded side-road, Marcurio gave me a knowing smile and wiped the sweat of his eyebrow.

“Right, I think here looks nice. You’d think they would’ve allowed us to keep the horse, at least?”

“They would’ve, had we been Nords. Well, they would’ve let me have it, and then carried you off to Windhelm as well.”

“In that case, I had never been so glad to be called a treacherous milkdrinker. Sigaar didn’t look too sad to be levied.” Marcurio pointed out.

“If he doesn’t have a family, maybe he saw it as a relief? Joining an army is a good defense against dragons, I suppose.”

“What is it with you and dragons, Sira? Maybe he just hates his family.”

I’d heard enough about his comfortable home at the capital, his well-read but authoritarian father, and his three frivolous older sisters to believe him to be an expert on family hatred.

I also knew he had been educated at the Temple throughout his childhood, and that he had spent two years in Solitude as a teenager. However, he had only returned three months ago to find a divided and terrorized country, which didn’t look at all like the one from his childhood. It was going to be fun getting the full story out of him.

“Maybe his family are dragons! Now, where did I put my map?”

“Here. Looks like Windhelm’s that way, right?” I kept staring at it, trying to calculate how much longer it would be. The day was hot.

“It’s weird to think I came here looking for a more tolerant society.” He added, with tangible sadness. From an Imperial perspective, Skyrim is rarely seen as a haven of tolerance and open-mindedness, but this was one area where the Nords had the upper hand.

I thought briefly of old Vincenza, whose large warehouses full of produce did not fully redeem her of the slurs she earned by having married Angelique. I did plenty of gigs for her over the years, and she was a generous tipper who claimed not to care two figs about “ignorant remarks”. I’d been claiming not to give a fuck about being the hooker’s daughter for years, so I sympathized.

“I thought it was the cheap skooma that lured you” I said, just to break the tension, as I began walking.

“Oh, that definitely played a role. What about you? What drove an ambitious debutante such as yourself to come to this cold land to try her luck as a shield-maiden? Was it just Talos or was someone else involved?”

“What? First of all, why does everyone assume that someone had to be the reason? That’s incredibly unfair, you know? If I were a man, I bet I’d be awarded the assumption of my own motivations.”

“Fair point. I apologise. So it was just Talos, then?”

“Talos? Why him at all?”

“Well, there’s a civil war being fought on his name, and you _are_ wearing his amulet.”

Ah, crap. The man was observant, at least. Pity his educated guesses lacked half the story.

I laughed dryly. “Fair point for you. But no, I’m not particularly fond of Talos. I found the amulet lying around, maybe three months ago? It’s helped me open certain doors, especially in the deep countryside, where us southern folk are usually not welcome. To be perfectly honest, I’m not that much into any Divine, I’d rather take care of my own business.“

That started a much deeper, but less personal theological discussion that lasted until Windhelm was in sight. Fortunately, there was still enough light to allow us to hire a new carriage to Winterhold straight away – skipping the need of having to enter that wretched city. Marcurio seemed very tired – he clearly was not used to such long treks, so as soon as he took off his boots I expected him to fall asleep. Instead, he had more pressing matters to discuss.

“Sira? Can I ask a question? A real, non-game question?”

“Ask whatever you want. Would you also like a foot rub?”

“I’m being serious here. It’s about Winterhold, and what we’re doing there.” His usual confident demeanor was gone.

“Right.” I hadn’t been kidding about the foot rub, but oh well. Comes with sharing your life with a group of hardened swordsmen.

“I understand my employers can have many reasons to keep their full motives to themselves, but the terms of this contract are unusually weird. You’ll see, I was only trying to save money in order to enrol in the College myself – and now two magic-hating Companions are paying my way in in exchange for the privilege of impersonating my bodyguard? At first I thought you were with the Guild, planning a heist, but you don’t have the type for stealth. You’re not Dark Brotherhood, are you? Or planning to destroy the College?”

“I take offense at you implication of not being stealthy. I’m not with the Brotherhood either. I’m definitely not trying to harm the College or anyone within. Happy?”

“Of course not.”

“Ah, I forgot you’re a fellow Imperial. So swearing on my honour won’t do, eh?” He shook his head. “Well, like I said yesterday, I don’t hate magic. My own knowledge of it is too basic for them to take me seriously, but I can heal and do some basic destruction. Now, promise not to laugh…”

“Hmmph.” He nodded lazily, clearly still sceptical.

“I need their help to find an Elder Scroll.”

He burst out laughing. “Seriously now, why on Earth would a Companion do with an Elder Scroll?”

“See? I knew you’d laugh at me.” I pretended to be more hurt than I really was. “This is why people don’t like mages here. You like to think yourselves better than everybody else.”

“Wait, you’re serious? Look at me!” We stared at each other, inches apart. “You want to find an Elder Scroll?”

“Yes.”

My eyes didn’t move, shrink or gave any signal of a lie, because I immediately smelled his trust.

“Well, you pay well, so you must have a good reason for this. I suppose this means if any hint appears that we must look elsewhere, I’ll have to leave the college and follow you to some spike-filled pit or filthy skeever-den?”

“Yes, I believe you’d be contractually obligated to do that.”

“That’s a relief, then. Much closer to any of my previous jobs. Now, I suppose Companions must have their own secrets to protect… but it is safe to assume they wouldn’t assign such a task to their newest recruit. You must be high in their ranks… in the Circle, perhaps?”

This boy clearly reads a lot, to have heard about the Circle.

“I’m their Harbinger, actually. And yes, it is the kind of job only I would do.” 

He stared at the road for a while, sighing loudly.

“Thinking of running away, Marcurio?” I asked.

“No. Definitely thinking I should’ve asked for more money though. Also, that I had foolishly assumed Vilkas to be the Harbinger.”

“Foolishly, that’s the right word. I’d forgotten how prejudiced we are back home against women wielding weapons. He’s my second in command actually, he’ll be holding the fort until I finish this task.”

* * *

Winterhold was tiny, provincial, windy, bitterly cold, and incredibly distrustful of magic – basically, every stereotype about Skyrim lumped together. With the exception of the innkeeper, nobody seemed willing to chit chat with two Imperials clearly headed for the institution which had supposedly destroyed their way of life.

I could almost not blame them – the College’s tall towers stood solid and intimidating in the middle of a deadly cliff, protected by a narrow, half-destroyed bridge illuminated by magicka pools. If it would’ve looked eerie enough on its own, the surrounding signs of devastation and the humbleness of the town made it a slap in the face.

The closest thing to the deference I’d grown accustomed to in Whiterun came from one of the guards, who was busy telling his colleagues about the latest battle between the mighty Dragonborn and a fire-spewing beast. They didn’t seem to recognise the object of their gossip asking them for directions, the little bitches.

After a proper night of stewed rabbit and a dry bed, we finally headed for the College. Faralda, the Gatekeeper took one look at us, and maybe two looks at Marcurio’s Fear spell, and welcomed us – I mean, him, into the College.

“And your escort here is…”

“Sira, milady. By the will of the Jarl of Whiterun, I am his housecarl. I go where he goes, to ensure his protection.”

“Ah, I see. Your family must… have important business with Whiterun, I’m sure.” Faralda turned back to Marcurio.

Right behind her, I nodded, signalling him to say yes.

“That we do. The rebellion and the town’s history make it hard for an Imperial mage to travel safely.”

She began walking up the big stone corridor, signalling at us to follow her. We were in!

“Well, I’d like to think the College can defend itself in these perilous times… and yet, it may be useful to have a local ally to serve as intermediary” She continued talking. “And with the amount of empty beds, I suppose Mirabelle will find no harm in her taking one as well, so long as the other students don’t complain.”

And I won’t even have to stay at the inn!

She continued with the tour of the different halls and rooms before showing us to the Hall of Attainment, where students had their dormitories. They all had a chair, a bed, a dresser, and food lying around; mine didn’t have a desk or shelf, and the decorations were less rich. Clearly Marcurio’s not the first one to enrol with the help.

Oh, fuck, I’m the help.

As soon as Faralda left, I followed Marcurio into his room and dumped the Axe of Whiterun on his bed.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Your badge of ofice, in case anyone asks about your Thanehood. Just place it somewhere visible.”

“Oh, wow. Fancy steel, eh? So they think I’m Thane?” He chuckled at the thought. “Sure you don’t mind if I keep your trophy?”

“The Blade of Falkreath is prettier. Also, just so we’re clear on this: I’m not fetching your meals.”

“It speaks ill of you to default on an oath so quickly.” Marcurio said, with a smirk that reminded me of Jarl Siddgeir.

* * *

I had not had the chance to talk to anyone else yet, although I had seen other robed students around the Hall. If the hours immediately following supper had been relatively animated, by 10 P.M. everything had fallen into the most absolute silence. 

I stood by one of the dormitory’s windows, watching the Ice Fields to the north.

For an instant, I was overjoyed at the possibility of starting over again, reinventing myself under completely different circumstances to those that had made me so successful in Whiterun. There was a whole new crowd to impress here, and even bigger challenges. This was the kind of opportunity that had always brought up my boldest side. The world has always been a vast place, endless like the ice fields, full of hamlets where I could find a whole new assortment of allies and victims.

My gaze turned west, and the sight of Ysgramor’s tomb shook me. It shimmered just there, so close – thanks to aurora borealis above, it looked just a few yards away. The place where I’d saved a soul, earned forgiveness, nearly died, and wiped my sister’s tears away. The place where I had promised to return soon, to release a brother from his own curse. 

My wolf began tugging at my heartstrings, begging to be released, to howl, to go home.

_**End of Act II** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end of the second part of Sira's story. The way I've mentally drafted it so far, it seems like her story will encompass five "acts" or parts, and it's already the most massive thing I've ever written. Cheers to that!  
> I've been a bit disorganized when writing her lately, so I have a lot of material for the third and fourth parts already done, but tying them together is proving hard!


	28. Act 3, Chapter 1: Letters from the Study Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under a new identiy, Sira tries her best to adjust to the slow academic pace of Winterhold. The dragon's pride resents anonimity.

# ACT III: A Honourable Forgery

_"And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but the truth in masquerade."_ _  
_ _\--- Lord Byron_

_"The best liar is he who makes the smallest amount of lying go the longest way."_ _  
_ _\--- Samuel Butler_

* * *

 

## 1.Letters from the Study Hall

Tirdas, 21 of Rain’s Hand, 4E 202  
Dear Aela:  
After some minor issues down the road, we have reached Winterhold all right. My pet mage has aced his admission’s exams and we are nicely settled. So far, so good. We got here Sundas afternoon, so I’ve only had the chance to have a very quick glimpse at the library. It is huge. May even be bigger than our entire hall, and all full of books! The librarian is an old Orc called Urag, who, of course, won’t give me the time of day – he thinks I’m an illiterate housecarl, and as far as he’s concerned, if I cared about magic I would’ve enrolled in the College myself.  
Fortunately, Marcurio was taken to do the rounds with each instructor, on his first day, and apparently impressed everybody. He’ll gain Urag’s respect quickly, I hope. The dorms are comfy enough, although a lot quieter than our whelp room. Empty beds are nowhere near scarce, so I got my own. A lot of students, especially the higher-level ones, keep ale and brandy under their beds, and sleeping tree sap seems to be a popular past time, too. I always thought mage types were into more ascetic lifestyles? Or is it the Greybeards I’m thinking about?  
Maybe all those mages who go mad and start terrorising towns are just high?  
The town itself is small and there doesn’t seem to be much to do. The other students seem nice, but shy – I had to switch into hide armour, it scares them less. Apparently a lot of them were constantly cussed as kids. I can hear you calling them milkdrinkers and slapping them all, if you were here.  
Everything moves at a different pace here: lectures are long, expeditions are planned weeks in advance, and students walk slowly while heatedly debating things. Apparently if you’re trying to acquire a thousand years of accumulated knowledge, there’s no need to get anything done before lunch.  
I miss you all.  
Love,  
Sira  
P.S.: Tell Farkas he owes me 50 septims: there is a nord here, his name is Odmund. He makes Hadvar sound like an uncouth brute, but is a bit on the pasty side. I’d take him adventuring outdoors if it weren’t always freezing.

* * *

Marcurio, Onmund the Paladin (who doesn’t know Marcurio calls him that), and a slim female Dunmer were gathered around a cheese wheel, sharing notes about a book on Illusion. I had nothing else better to do (as usual) after a morning of being frowned at by Urag, and was acutely hungry anyway, so I approached them and started slicing the cheese for everyone.  
“You were at the library earlier” said the Dunmer.  
I didn’t notice when, exactly, they had all raised their heads and began staring at me.  
“Shit, you caught me. Please don’t report me to Mirabelle.” I replied, blushing a bit more sincerely than I’d have liked. Hopefully appealing to her female complicity would work – although Marcurio didn’t think so, judging from his face.  
“I won’t. But I don’t think she’d mind, either. If you wish to learn, there’s no need to be ashamed of it. We can help you, too.” She said. She probably meant to be welcoming, but I felt a bit like I was an object of charity. Oh, little Sira, if you’re so hungry, feel free to pick up some leftovers after supper… I had forgotten that feeling.  
I stared at Marcurio. He was supposed to be my Thane, after all. He could send me away. He didn’t.  
Instead, Odmund intervened.  
“If you could choose one spell you’d like to do, which one would it be, by the way?”  
Ah, this kid knows shame all too well. Divines bless him. I thought of Esbern, that soft grandpa who could kill Thalmor justiciars with the same ease Aela or Farkas would dispose of common bandits.  
“An Atronach, definitely. They seem like a life-saver.”  
“Interesting. So you’d use magic to watch your back, then. Frost or flame?”  
“Flame.”  
“You didn’t even stop to think about it.”  
“I like fire better. Almost everyone here is too comfortable with cold anyway.”  
Marcurio didn’t handle being outstaged from his Paladin’s attention, clearly, because he immediately intervened.  
“I really shouldn’t let you be so lazy all day. Starting tomorrow you’ll come with us to Conjuration practice. You’ll see, your atronach will be deadly.”  
What sick game is he playing at? I can still beat him to a pulp!  
“Thanks, I guess.” I said, patting him on the shoulder.

* * *

Fredas, 1st of Second Seed, 4E 202  
Dear Sira:  
Erik the Slayer is living up to his name at last! A slight recklessness of Njada’s behalf, which could’ve ended up badly for both of them, ended up on 8 dead bandits and a lot of skooma confiscated. Should I congratulate him on your behalf? I know he’d appreciate it.  
Jobs and assignments abound still, of course. We need one or two more members, I think, but I feel the others are not taking the issue seriously enough. They’re all too happy to have jobs to choose from, but then some just don’t get done. What do you think of offering a 200-septim reward to the next Companion who brings a new recruit? The whelps love some competition, and would boost morale.  
Amren asked about you and sends you a deep hug.  I trust ~~you’re not doing anything dishonourable?~~ everything is fine with his family. Aela apologizes for not writing back, her shoulder is sprained and she’s been banned from using her left arm for two weeks (as if we weren’t short-staffed already!). She threatens to harm me if I don’t tell you to write to her again. Send my regards to the Mage too, please don’t drive him mad.  
Come home soon.  
Sincerely,  
Vilkas

* * *

Turdas, 5th of Second Seed  
My dearest Aela:  
Apparently part of the problems around can be blamed on the fact that Jarl Korir has a completely useless steward. When I say useless, I mean proud of the fact that he does nothing. For some reason, everyone at the Longhouse has assumed him to be a powerful mage with links to the College, but I asked around and nobody knows him, so he just sits at the inn and drinks all day.  
He’s quite generous when buying you dinner.  
Also, tell Vilkas he’s an asshole for suggesting I had an inappropriate relationship with Amren (he should learn to blot lines properly!) and that I miss him.  
My pet mage grows more and more impressive, today he awed everyone with his recitation of all the types of draugr and their special abilities. And guess who gave him all that information? Yours truly, who is not completely illiterate.  
The milkdrinkers grow on me, mate. There’s a Dunmer girl called Brelyna who is an absolute sweetheart, once she stops stuttering. She’s a member of House Telvanni, by the way, in case Athis wants to come visit. Also, the building’s resident Nord, Onmund alias the Paladin (who is also available, but don’t tell Marcurio I said that), came to me the other day to ask me to retrieve a family heirloom from some other altmer student, who seems to be a fence in addition to an asshole. Laugh if you will, but it felt good to be recognised as the expert on something, even if that something is beating people up.  
I miss you like crazy.  
Lots of love,  
Sira

* * *

Sundas, 17th of Second Seed, 4E 202  
My real and only Harbinger,  
Athis says he couldn’t care less about the slaver Telvannis or whatever is left of them. He also asked about Brelyna’s chest size, because males are scum, whether men or mer.  
The gift package arrived well. Njada is very impressed with her Block Bracers, but I think Farkas doesn’t trust the greatsword and may have sold it. My Bow of Fire is canny, I had never thought the College as a source of anything useful. Can’t wait to test it on a spriggan!  
Farkas has taken the assignment of hunting butterflies very seriously, as you can see. He misses you, especially now that his meaner half is too busy being boss. (What were you thinking!? He’ll drive me mad one of these days).  
Erik is now after Ria, at last. I could’ve killed him too.  
Met a Breton poacher the other day. He can clearly do better with his life, so I’ll have him win me the recruitment prize, you’ll see. He rocks the axe.  
Please don’t let the mages brainwash you.  
Hugs,  
Aela.

* * *

Everyone was excited about Saarthal. Even I was, after hearing about for over two weeks. Old Nordic tombs and barrows were nothing new to me (half my fortune came from them, after all), and not even to Marcurio (who was already an expert on everything, as far as he was concerned).  
There was, however, something special expected of Saarthal, if at least just because it was in the middle of such a frozen wasteland that everything was expected to be untouched. Tolfdir, possibly the only one among the professors who was determined to treat me like another student, had insisted I come – I figured at the very least, my experience fighting draugr would be useful. The mages all claimed to be able to defend themselves without a sword, but very few specialised in Destruction magic, and they were still too skinny and indoorsy for me to take their word for them.  
The initial schedule said we would divide the dig in areas, each to be tackled by a different group of students. In between dusting, classifying, counting, and researching, the project should take a week, Tolfdir said, but if their usual pace was any indication, it was likely going to last a month.  
By then, Marcurio better be on good enough terms to get me a lead on that stupid Kel.

* * *

Sundas, 24th of Second Seed, 4E 202  
Vilkas:  
The ruse is out.  
We were heading to a nearby dig in Saarthal, which is out there in the middle of the ice, and we got attacked by a frost dragon. It’s not like the entire College saw me devour its soul – maybe two thirds?  
I would call on you to come pick me up from this odd place and take me home, but don’t you dare! For what it’s worth, I am now a student in full right. I’m keeping Marcurio around, though, he’s nice to look at.  
Tomorrow I’m barging back into the library and demanding information on the Elder Scroll. I’ll threaten to shout them all to death if they don’t listen to me.  
Of course, if you want to come here and just say hi, feel welcome. I miss you all.  
Regards,  
Sira.


	29. Expect no lies, assume everything's secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dragon attack outs Sira to Marcurio and the College of Winterhold. Even among Imperials, coin cannot replace the need to balance the right to secrets with the need for loyalty.

The College’s bathhouse was probably the only truly warm room in all of Winterhold. Located in a small cellar just beneath the Hall of Attainment – the tower that held the student’s dormitories – and consisting of three different small pools, each with a magically warm spring, it was private and welcoming, even if austerely decorated. The white stone pillars around each pool had shelves carved within, and dark blue silk curtains kept each pool private without making it dark.It was the perfect place to rest my tired muscles and wait for the throes of winged fury to pass. And hide, too.

  
It had been the third day of the expedition to Saarthal, an ancient burial site located just one hour west of Winterhold. I had expected the day to be equally as boring as the two previous ones – mostly standing around while the rest of Marcurio’s “study group” dusted off every inch in their assigned area. It felt like unnecessary punishment for breaking that one vase, the first day. What did J’zargo mean I wasn’t supposed to bring a shield to the excavation? Was he completely unaware of the amount of frost trolls lurking around?

Even the stroll to the excavation site was highly monotonous: just soft hills covered knee-deep in snow, icy rock formations, and the occasional iceberg as you approached the coast line. Not that morning, however: just before we arrived, a roar made the white tremble, and the shadow of a frost dragon darkened everything for a few seconds. The beast had been flying towards the city, it had to be stopped… and yet, most of our party just stood there frozen and silent, out of awe or fear. Maybe they were hoping the dragon wouldn’t notice a group of over 10 people ready to eaten? Marcurio and one of the upper-level scholars (Drevis, was it?) were the only ones to immediately raise their spells to face it.

Me? I immediately pulled out Dragonbane, waiting for it to attempt a land attack, and shouted some fire at it. Marcurio took my cue and began throwing lightning at it, someone else eventually produced a staff of flames and began attacking – just enough to force it to come down. As it did, I climbed a nearby rock to give me quick access to its neck. However, the other mage had either lost the staff or gotten himself frozen (I wasn’t really watching), and J’zargo, who had at last pulled himself together, had also been thrown around by a claw. No matter, its neck was just within Dragonbane’s reach, so I gave into my berserk rage and slashed away – until I was thrown off by Marcurio’s sparks.

“Marcurio, what the fuck! It’s a frost dragon, you're supposed to throw fire at it!” I screamed, as I lied flat on my back.  
“Right, sorry!”  
The stupid beast was trying to fly, and then it’d be starting from scratch. Not on my watch!  
“ **FUS RO DAH**!” The shout was just hard enough to make it stagger.  
“Marcus, quick, fire at its neck, before it takes off!”  
_Go, Sira, give in to the rage. **SU GRAH DUN!** Feed off it. Feed off the dragon. _ It must have been the unnatural cold, but I found myself lying chest-down on the snow after I finished eating its soul, waiting for it to adjust to its new prison.  
A wrinkled hand came to me and helped me up. It was Professor Tolfdir, staring at me like I'd just made him win a bet.  
“But why didn’t you tell us before, Dragonborn? A most impressive ability!”  
_Oh, crap_. I took his hand and came up.  
“Uh, well… I didn’t…”  
From the corner of my eye, I noticed everyone else either gaping at me or avoiding my gaze, especially Marcurio. I was going to have a lot of explaining to do.  
“Nevermind, young woman. Will you help me collect the scales and some bones? What a wonderful opportunity to study dragons up close! Pity we cannot get a live dragon, of course…”  
Brelyna coughed right behind us, as if summoning the courage to speak.  
“Professor? We have three injured students. We’ve patched them up, but…”  
“Of course, of course, miss Marion. Let’s resume today’s activities in the afternoon.”

The same timid cough brought me back from my recollections.  
“Oh, sorry, Brelyna, I didn’t mean to monopolise the pool.” I said, quickly looking for my clothes.  
“Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to use it.” She was blushing fiercely, trying to avert her eyes from my body and the scars that covered it, but still unwilling to look at me in the eye. “Marcurio is looking for you.”  
_Oh, shit._

* * *

  
Mirabelle had been waiting for me just upstairs, with a set of College Robes, ready to welcome me into the College– and she called me Dragonborn, not Sira, just in case it wasn’t clear enough why she was so surreptitiously recruiting me.

I found Marcurio with his Paladin on the second floor of the dormitories, sitting by a table and seemingly staring at an apple. He didn’t look very upset – but his usually amber eyes had gone the colour of rusty bronze. I breathed deeply, summoned the balls of Ysgramor, and walked over to face him.

“Hey there, guys, Marcus. Trying to cook it? It would need some cinnamon.”  
“Shout at it and burn it to a crisp, then.” Marcurio said, without looking up, his tone forcedly cheerful.  
“I get it, you’re mad.”  
“You bet I am. I hate being called Marcus. That’s what everyone called my father.”  
“Bummer. Your name is too long, I'll have to shorten it. It will save us time. What about Marc? It would make you sound Breton.”  
The corner of his lips turned upwards, and smelled relief in his breath. Had he truly been afraid of me, or just angry?  
“I can’t believe you are the Dragonborn. You know, we’ve been getting stories from the city guards for months now.” Onmund had remained quiet so far, but he had to break the moment.  
“Why so surprised? Are you saying I don’t look like the incarnation of a legendary Nord warrior?”  
“Umm… no, that’s not what I meant.” I grinned, showing I wasn’t really offended. “I suppose it makes sense from a historical point of view – Talos, I mean Tiber Septim’s descendants would’ve mixed with Imperial noble families, so of course a woman from Cyrodiil…”  
That is an interesting backstory for the manor with servants I’m buying.  
“Can we go back to that some other day? I need to talk to Marc here.”  
“Sure, Drag… Sira. I’ll see you later at the dig, eh?” He blushed profusely, picked up his books and the apple, and left. I took over his side of the bench and grabbed the nearest boiled cream tart.  
“Well done, Sira, you scared the lad away. And he took the last apple!”  
I handed him some grapes. He shrugged, as if saying _they’re good enough but only just so_ , and began eating.  
“I’m listening, Sira.” He said, and kept plucking grapes off the cluster, one by one.  
“I’m not sure what you want to hear!” Shit, that’s was a bit too honest. “I mean, I’m not the first client to have reasons to keep my full story to myself, am I?”  
“Right. I do recall saying that.”  
“For what it’s worth, Marcurio, you can rest assured that nothing I’ve told you is a lie.” That was a lie, of course, as he had asked plenty about my life back in Anvil. “I may have left some details out, but I never lied.”  
“A lot of details, more like it. And what's worse, you've made it look like I've been lying too. Pretending to be a thane, pfft! I have been ridiculed in front of the very people I wanted to form long-lasting bonds with."  
"You agreed to the terms of the contract yourself. We could leave with a days' notice at any point, I did warn you of that."  
"Yes, you did, and it didn't matter so long as I could come back once the contract is done and I had enough coin to complete my studies here. That won't happen now - I'll forever be the arrogant Imperial who helped the College be infiltrated by a Companion."  
"Bullshit. You will be the talented mage who helped the Dragonborn fulfil her world-saving mission."  
"I don't even know what that mission is!"  
I sighed. He had a point there.  
"At this point of the game, you may as well just start asking."  
"And you'll answer truthfully?"  
"Whenever possible. When not possible, will you be able to accept silence instead?"  
"Better than most lies, at least." He began rubbing his temples, as if unsure what to ask first. "Very well then. I suppose a lot of the weirder things about you are explained already. The Amulet of Talos, for once, and that you’re Harbinger so young.  
I inadvertently rolled my eyes. “Yes, I do feel compelled to defend the right to worship Talos now, given that the Greybeards have declared me his heir. You've seen me Shout and eat dragon souls already, there is little more to say there."  
"More like an awful lot, but have it your way. What about your strange mood swings?"  
"I hope you don't think dragon souls are sweet rolls?"  
He grimaced at the analogy "And the Elder Scroll? What do _we_ want it for?”  
"It is supposed to allow me to travel through time to learn a shout that can defeat Alduin, the World Eater, and keep the world from ending.” His choice of pronoun did not escape me, compelling me to remain honest for once.  
“So when you said the Companions sent you for this job, it really was because only you could…” He tapped his chin. “I should’ve asked for more money, really."  
"Anything else my thane wishes to know?"  
At last, his usual amused expression was completely back.  
"Why all the secrecy? Surely your knowledge of magic is deficient, but you could've just said you were the Dragonborn from the start and Mirabelle would've let you in."  
"Yes, I know that _now_..." The excuse sounded stupidly insufficient now. How to explain to him that I rarely need a lot of reasons to lie anyway? "Also, I was kind of sick of all the open mouths and awe... almost as sick of it as I am of being stared at in fear."  
"Well, if you knew what you looked like fighting a dragon, you would not resent Brelyna and J'zargo for it."  
I stared at him in disbelief.    
"Care to elaborate?"  
"Well, your hair stood up as soon as the dragon appeared, and your eyes went red right. When you threw that fire shout, you... went sort of the color of it. You looked like an Atronach for a second or two. And you didn't seem to come fully come back from Oblivion after it was over either, at least not right away."  
My mind sped back to one confusing night by the White River, in which I had smelled like Helgen and looked feral while devouring a man who deserved better.  
_How come nobody had told me any of this?_ Was I that scary?  
I chuckled a bit, trying to look less surprised.  
"Very well, bonus pay for you for being honest."  
"So what’s the plan of action, my lady Dragonborn?” He smiled – almost as if it had been about money all along.  
“Well, first, you never call me that again. My lady as a standalone is fine, though.”  
“And not happening.”  
“Well, fine, Marcus. Then, I change into my new robes, so we can be back on Saarthal on time. Tomorrow, we hit the library together – Urag’s bound to notice me, now.”  
“Sure, that works. So I’ll take it you’re no longer my housecarl?” I shook my head slowly at it. “Damn, I’m going to miss being Thane and bossing the help around.”  
I could’ve smacked him for that, if I didn’t relate to that sentiment more than I’d ever admit.

* * *

  
Saarthal was actually an incredibly fascinating place now that I was there on my own right – and allowed to do things with the others. Just in case, I heeded J’zargo’s advice and left my shield behind, only bringing one sword and dagger with me. Between him, Marcurio, Brelyna Marion, and Onmund, we were the largest study group there, by far, Tolfdir doubled our assigned area.

Onmund wasn’t too excited about it. He kept saying it was wrong to disturb the resting place of someone’s ancestors – and he seemed to have chosen me as his preferred audience, most likely because, as a Companion and the embodiment of a Nord legend, I was the closest thing to a fellow Nord he had there. Unfortunately, I was far from the ally he needed, seeing as grave robbing had taken me from burnt rags to fabulous riches in just six months, cultural taboos be damned.  
Curiously enough, after accidentally locking  myself behind a trap while trying to pick up a bracelet, he was the only one not to send a smug look my way.  
After a few seconds of panic (at least this time nobody turned into a werewolf), I managed to wretch myself free and even to open an altogether new passage. It’d been a while since I’d last gone dungeon delving, so I immediately volunteered myself and Marcurio to explore it. 

It was close to dawn by the time we got back to the Hall of Attainment. I was almost completely unscathed, but Marcurio was having a hard time with the leftover pain of healing spells.

“Ugh, this is undignified! How did I go from fake Thane to injured child in one day?” he said, as I helped him climb onto his bed.  
“The minute you started complaining, mate. Here, place this just under your elbow.”  
“Thanks, girl. Now, I should have a potion for the pain somewhere.”  
“No potion! It will make it worse. Trust me on this one, magic only does so much. That cramp is your body protesting to excessive magical fixing.”  
“What a barbaric concept. What am I supposed to do then?”  
“A good massage will do it. Here, allow me.”  
“Don’t even think of it. You’ll break me as vengeance for something.”  
“Oh, please. You’re talking to a widely experienced tomb desecrator here. I’ve massaged all the Companions.”  
“Oh, I don’t need the gruesome details of your sex life, Sira. You’ll horrify our Paladin, too.”  
I turned around towards his bunk. It was on the other side of the hall, and yet his snoring was tangible.  
“Are you kidding me? He’s making sure nobody else hears us.”  
From over the blankets, I began tapping his left knee and leg.  
“Mmmm yeah, right there. He asked about you like five times today, you know?” He said, with properly veiled resentment.  
“Of course he did. I’m Dragonborn. I’m fascinating, but not like that. Not to him. I’m so not his type. I think the lad’s scared of me, actually.”  
“Of course he is. You’re Dragonborn, that makes you terrifying enough, doesn’t it? Even if you hadn’t roughed up Enthir like that.”  
“Oh, Onmund did not complain about that, did he? I only did it to try to get his stupid amulet back! Enthir is a cunt anyway.” I pressed on his calf and he winced. “Oh, sorry!”  
“It’s fine. That’s the spot that’s killing me, though.” I began rubbing that spot a bit more gently. “Anyway, Onmund seemed really nervous about the whole business, in addition to being scared of women in general.”  
“Oh, wouldn’t that work out nicely for you, Marcurio? Can you wiggle your toes a bit?”  
“Ah, yes, much, much better. And if you could only be right about the Paladin, it’d be stupendous. What about you, though?” He pointed at his chair, which I immediately dragged next to his bed. “Where’s your strong nord warrior? Reading all those letters you send to Whiterun?”  
As far as olive branches go, this was probably as good as it was going to get.  I grabbed a bottle of wine from his dresser, curled up on the chair, and set out to repair what little sense of complicity was left between us.  
However, a hint of daylight was already visible, and I could hear bodies stirring around the tower. Walls always have ears for the Dragonborn.  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
“Siraaa…”  
"Fine. I really don't have much to tell, though. There was a strong nord soldier in Solitude, who is probably no longer waiting for a letter, and a powerful nord in Falkreath, who I bet hasn’t noticed that there will be no more letters.”  
“Interesting, but I don’t care about those. What about the man who came to see you off all the way to Riften? Vilkas, was it?”  
So not smooth, mage.  
I began softly scratching his head, hoping that would make him sleep more quickly.  
“Nope, sorry, nothing. Don’t blame that failure on me.”  
“Bullshit, I know a hungry man when I see one.”  
_Oh, the wolf was hungry alright_. Pity I couldn’t tell Marcurio how close to the truth he had landed – and how wrong he still was.  
He pressed: “Who else? Shouldn’t the Dragonborn have a flock of men wanting to taste a piece of legend?”  
I chuckled. “The dragon does not mate with sheep.”  
He made a mocking wounded gesture. “Oh, such pride. Have it your way then - but keep in mind I won't be held responsible for keeping the ones you haven't claimed.”


	30. Rowing in a mud pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sira is a warrior, not an intellectual - and she's fine with that. However, to find an Elder Scroll she will need more patience and less pride.

I woke up on the same chair, still bent in the same unnatural position, with a bottle of ale by my side. Not the most comfortable situation, but since the beast blood had made restful sleep into a distant memory, I wasn’t about to make a big deal out of it.  
Unfortunately, Brelyna seemed willing to make a fuss about it, judging from her shocked expression when she saw me leave Marcurio’s booth wearing yesterday’s wrinkled robes. Poor Marcurio, sending the wrong signals all over – and what’s more, poor Brelyna, going after a hopeless cause.  
“Brelyna, hi! What are you doing here? Are you all back for lunch already?”  
“And about to go back to the excavation, actually. We heard you discovered some strange artifact there last night?”  
“More like, very early this morning. I’m supposed to go talk to the Arch-Mage about it later.” My stomach rumbled _loudly_. “I suppose I should get some food first, eh?”  
“Yes, I’m sure you are famished after all that… exercise.”  
“Someone said famished? Food? Where?” Thank Talos, he was up and right behind us.  
“I think there’s sausages and bread left upstairs.” Brelyna said, looking down and blushing.  
“Great, let’s go already. Sira, your arm.”  
“Eh?”  
“Your arm! I’m not going to make it up the stairs on my own, mate! Brelyna, please send our love to Onmund and J’zargo, will you?”  
As we climbed up the stairs, he immediately let go of my arm.  
“Awww, you think she’ll send your love to the Paladin? I bet she’ll keep it.” I teased.  
He squinted.  
“She may as well. My love doesn’t come cheap, as you know.”  
“Man whore.”  
“You’re just scared she’s going to conjure up a bow and turn you into a hedgehog.”

* * *

  
My change in status at the College was evident as soon as we entered the Arcaneum: as Marcurio’s housecarl, I had barely been worthy of a nod of acknowledgment on Urag’s behalf, now that I had my own set of robes, we both got a full “good afternoon.”  
Nevertheless, I felt it was prudent to let Marcurio do the talking. Urag didn’t snigger after we asked for an Elder Scroll, but he made it clear enough that he didn’t have one, and that we didn’t look worthy of such big-boy toys anyway.  
“You kids think that even if I did have one here, that I’d let you see it? It would be under the highest security! An Elder Scroll is an instrument of immense knowledge and power. It’s not something you just hand over to the newest novices.”  
“But my friend here is the Dragonborn. Clearly she has great power, and needs your help with the knowledge.”  
Urag turned to me. “Wait. Are you the one they’re talking about? Did you kill that dragon yesterday?”  
“I did, sir.” Oh, please don’t have him ask me to demonstrate a shout, too. I’m sick of that.  
“Listen, I’ll bring you everything I have on them. It’s not much, so don’t get your hopes up.”  
He brought us back two books. I gave him my sweetest, flirtiest smile as a thank you before returning to the Hall of Attainment.  
“Well, that wasn’t too hard. If only you’d been honest with everyone from the start…” Marcurio said.  
“Easy there. We still have to see what clues we can get from these books. I’ll take _Effects of the Elder Scrolls_ and you can take the _Ruminations_ one, is that alright?”  
“Sure, we’ll see about that tonight. We’re still in time for the afternoon lecture, though, Turrianus is going to demonstrate more defensive enchantments, I’m sure he’ll be giving gear away.”  
Unsurprisingly, the robes may get you the full student treatment, but they don’t contribute one iota to your understanding. I sensed I was expected to participate at the lecture, or at least, that I would be allowed to ask questions, but I dared not to. My knowledge of enchanting, it was clear, will forever be limited to buying a soul trapping sword and giving any filled soul gems to Marcurio.  
As much respect as I have for his intellectual curiosity, I felt like I was wasting my time there. Sure, a properly enchanted circlet could make me highly resistant to dragon fire, but I wasn’t about to make one myself. Maybe I could eventually pick up enough fancy words to impress someone at a tavern?  
If lectures made me feel a bit uncultivated, Urag’s books made me feel like I was dropped on the head as a child. _Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls_ was completely incomprehensible, and little more than strings of beautiful metaphors with no real information. As small a consolation as it was, Marcurio seemed equally unable to make sense of it.  
The second book was fairly straightforward, if still useless: apparently, unless you were too stupid to understand _anything_ about Kels, trying to read one makes you blind and mad. Did it even matter? First, we would have to find one.  
“This is a waste of time! There’s nothing here that will help us actually find it. I’ll never be able to learn that Shout.”  
“Well, Urag did warn us. Don’t despair, Sira. We are moving forward, even if slowly. This Septimus Signus…”  
“Is a madman.”  
“Maybe, but look at the dates. The book is fairly recent. He must’ve had an assistant or steward, likely still sane. We could access his notes…”  
“Sure, we can do that. I’ll just go tell Alduin to hold on the world eating for another month while we locate this steward.”  
“Well, did you think it would take a week, Sira? Scholars spend years, decades even trying to locate an Elder Scroll. May as well apply yourself to your studies here, in the meantime. Just so you don’t go blind or anything like that.”  
“Who cares if I go blind anyway? My eyesight’s crappy to begin with.” I sat on his bed and began rubbing my eyes again. It was all I could do to keep myself from shouting fire and burning the entire tower down. “I never expected to sail through this task, but it’s like were rowing on a dense swamp… or a thick, boiling stew, getting thicker by the minute.”  
“I’ll take the bad food analogy means you’re hungry?”  
“I’m always hungry. Maybe I am the world eater. That would make it so much easier.” If he could make pitiful attempts at being funny, so could I.  
“Oh, look! You’re beginning to rave. I’ll take this as progress.”

* * *

  
Brelyna claimed to want to help me – but why do I have such a hard time believing her? Better yet, why did I agree to help her out in the first place?  
Oh, right, she promised she would _teach me_ the basis of conjuration. If she had approached to help me out of the kindness of her shy heart, I’d have flipped her off. I did not spend my entire adolescence among thieves and pimps to still be deluded by the idea that people are usually kind to strangers over nothing.  
And yet, here I was, hiding in my room, looking green.  
“Oh, no. This is not how it was supposed to go! Wait, one second, I’m sure it will clear itself out.” She said, wringing her hands and pacing around the room.  
Oh, Sira, what were you thinking, lending yourself as a test subject?  
“I hope you’re not thinking of going anywhere until I’m fixed!”  
“Right, no, of course! I mean, it will fade in a few minutes, I’m sure, but I’ll wait with you.”  
“That’s so thoughtful of you. Care for some ale?” I offered her a bottle from my basket. At the very least, I could pretend she’s Aela and we could chat.  
“Eh, sure, thanks. Oh, wow, you’re reading a Signus?” She pointed at the Ruminations, which were lying on top of my side table.  
“Uh? Oh, yes, that book. It’s quite the puzzle.”  
“Indeed. It’s one of the last things he ever wrote, you know, before he lost contact with the College.”  
“And, it seems, with reality.”  
“Oh, you don’t mean that, do you?” She giggled. “He is quite the genius, no matter what Mirabelle says.”  
Wait, _is_?  
“About a year ago, actually, I even thought of going to his outpost to interview him, but I could not find anyone willing to come with me.” She continued.  
Was she messing with me? Is Signus still alive? At an outpost?  
“Oh, that sounds like such a pity. Why, though? I mean, where is this outpost?”  
“Oh, just north of here on the ice fields. It’s not that dangerous at all, really, save from the occasional snow sabre cat and troll... although I suppose now that frost dragons are around…”  
Oh, Talos be blessed! Meridia be blessed!  
“Good thing I’m the Dragonborn, then. And Marcurio adores frost trolls, he’s researching something about their claws. What are you doing Sundas?”  
“I was thinking of catching up on some reading… oh, you mean to go look for Signus?”  
“Yes, of course that’s what I mean. Provided I no longer look green by then?”  
Her grin seemed to cover half her face. I bet if I had offered to stay behind, I could have gotten a hug as well.

* * *

  
Blackreach sound like the sort of mythical place that didn’t really exist, while Alftand was an obscure and ridiculously dangerous Dwemer ruin, but it was also a concrete, physical place – the first real possible location for the Elder Scroll. What a nightmare it had been to get just that word!  
Sundas morning was excessively cold, even for Winterhold’s standards. Not the best day to leave bed at the break of dawn to go stroll around the ice fields north of the College – but Brelyna was too excited to allow me an extra half hour of blanket warmth. I couldn’t resent her too much over it, though: not only was her giddiness at being included in our “private adventure” palpable, but she chose to express it by being as useful as possible.  
At some point during the previous days, she had gathered supplies, snacks, and even rented a boat from a horker hunter, saving us hours of swimming in frozen waters and slipping on thin ice. It was also clear that she’d been meaning to interview Septimus Signus for a while, as she had very detailed directions for his outpost.  
Pity the man is truly mad. She spent hours trying to write down his ramblings, but I sincerely doubt her notes will be worth anything. In fact, for the first two hours we spent at his outpost, I suspected he wasn’t even aware that he had visitors. He talked to us, surely, but it was just ramblings about the god that inhabited the big Dwemer sphere he had abandoned everything for.  
I know I’m an ignorant mercenary, but I struggled to summon the reverence that Brelyna had for him. Fortunately, Marcurio is familiar enough with the Dwemer to ask smart-sounding questions (I suspect he’s as good a smoke-seller as I am). Once his interest was piqued, it took a lot of bootlicking and flattering to get him to agree to Brelyna’s interview, and at last, to a deal that was of use to me: the location of the Kel, in exchange for a transcription of it in some sort of mechanical contraption called Lexicon.  
I’m sure we’ll come back with the Lexicon someday, once I’ve mastered the Dragonrend Shout and maybe married and started a silk carpet business. The old man is likely to forget we even exist, obsessed with his big Dwemer ball.  
“No longer rowing in a swamp, eh?” Marcurio said, as I dug into the greasiest horker steak ever. The Frozen Hearth Inn was as packed as ever, and it had never felt so warm to us.  
 “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I prancing about too obviously on the way back?” I could’ve sung, too.  
“Girl, you were practically dancing in the snow.” He looked quite chuffed himself, if at least for the large amount of chicken in front of him.  
“Only because you clearly can’t dance. You can’t blame me for being satisfied with the expedition.”  
“I know, it’s been a hit for all us, hasn’t it?” Brelyna said, shuffling her notes. “This right here, I will finally be able to send my finished paper to the Arcane University in Cyrodiil.”  
“Cheers to that, I say.” I added.  
“So when are you going to get Professor Signus’ Lexicon?”  
I looked at Marcurio. Somehow “right away” seemed too blunt an answer.  
“Soon.” He said. “I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting… but Dwemer ruins are complex business, we’ll have to prepare.”  
I’d never been to Dwemer sites, so I just nodded in agreement and stuffed extra food on my mouth.  
“Is that Faralda who just walked in with Nelacar?” Brelyna said, saving me the trouble of having to elaborate.  
“It looks like Faralda allright. Who’s Nelacar?”  
“A former student at the College. He lives here at the Inn, though.” I said. Marcurio stared at me oddly, so I explained. “I had a lot of time to gossip with the innkeeper during your first days of class.”  
“Of course. You think we should say hi?”  
“Sure, the more the merrier. Just try and not challenge Nelacar to a drinking contest. We’re pre-emptively recognising you as the bigger man.”  
Brelyna found that funny, at least, and giggled while waving at them.  
“Ah, there’s the three of you, adventuring on a day off?” Faralda said, with a warm voice that had no place on her concerned face. They pulled two chairs and joined us.  
“Ah, so you are the newest novices.” Nelacar’s greeting was, in the typical Altmer style, as arrogant as possible.  
“Yes, we’ve had a most fascinating trip to see Septimus Signus, and he even requested us to go to Alftand to… fetch him something.” I said.  
Instead of joining in with some casual gossip, Faralda looked around, as if looking for eavesdroppers, and began whispering.  
“Sira, Marcurio, I’ve been looking for you two all day! I’m glad I found you before you returned to the College.”  
“Oh? Are we in trouble?” Marcurio asked.  
“No, not yet, and not you. Sira, Ancano has been asking about you an awful lot. He asked Tolfdir twice already to send you to him, he says he has important questions to ask you. Be very careful!”  
My hands felt suddenly cold.  
“Ancano? The tall one in the Thalmor robes?”  
“But I thought he was supposed to be an advisor to the Arch-Mage?”  
“Brelyna, don’t be naïve! Do you ever see him with the Arch Mage? No, he’s a Thalmor spy, that one. And he’s very intrigued with whatever came out of Saarthal – and with Sira. He’ll definitely approach you next time he sees you, and I’m warning you, Sira, be very careful with what you tell him!”  
“Of course I will! Thanks for the warning.”  
“I didn’t warn you of anything. Now, if you’ve got somewhere else to be, like Alftand, I suggest you go there right away… for a while, until things have quieted down. Brelyna, Marcurio, I’ll see _you_ at the College.”  
With that, Faralda and Nelacar stood up and left.  
 “You think she meant it? You can’t even come back for tonight?” Brelyna’s voice trembled wildly.  
“I… have had issues with the Thalmor before.” Oh, the smell of blood and pain in the Embassy’s torture chambers. I made my best effort to keep my voice from trembling. “Shit, Marcurio, you ought to help me out here. My things are still inside... it’s best if they stay, though, so it doesn’t look like I’m running away. It would buy us a couple of days, at least.”  
“We will need supplies for Alftand.”  
“Of course. Good thing I got both my swords and my shield with me, those are the bulkiest. The greatsword and the axe of Whiterun, I don’t think we’ll need. My scaled armour set, plus potions and food. I’ll buy a new bow tomorrow from Birna.”  
“Sure.” He squeezed my hand. “It will get done. You stay here, send word to Vilkas. Good thing I’m much more built for stealth that you.”  
“Oh, that nonsense again! I suppose you won’t need any invisibility potions then?”  
“What, like… well, if you’ve got those, I wouldn’t hurt.”  
I opened my rucksack, trying to find the potion bag. “Here. Go. And Brelyna?”  
“I won’t tell anyone, I swear!”


	31. A wondrous, gigantic coffin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their hasty departure from the College, Sira and her hired magicka, Marcurio, leave for Alftand in search of the Elder Scroll. Despite being experienced dungeon delvers, the trip forces them to be honest - with themselves and each other.

Torches cannot be used to tell time, but I’ve spent enough time in crypts to be able to estimate time according to my own sensations of hunger and fatigue. Or so I thought. After the fourth time we passed the same hall, tripping against the same broken Dwarven sphere, I realised that past a certain point, fatigue makes it hard to distinguish between three and thirteen days.

It seemed more than prudent to begin rationing our food, though – and maybe to slice up the next skeever we came across. Fortunately, if my time at the college was worth anything, it was to absorb a lot of Collette’s knowledge of Restoration, so our stash of potions remained untouched.

Dungeon delving is my thing, I reminded myself – but the ancient Nords had nothing on the Dwemer, who must have been amused at the thought of their cities becoming massive graves. Bad signs started early on, still on the first morning, after finding a trail of Khajiit and Bosmer corpses not far from the entrance. They looked relatively fresh, too, which could be attributed to the cold… 

Oh, Sira, why didn’t you just turn back right then?

Marcurio had noticed my distress at the corpses, which we stupidly mistook for bandits, and with his typical cheek, said “three less bandits to take care of ourselves” and to “take comfort that I am here with you”. Rookie attitude if there ever was one. The bloody idiot felt a lot less relieved after we found their gear, journal included, showing us the many horrible ways to die that we still had to deal with.

By the end of the first day, it was clear that even if he was a fearless and efficient fighter, he didn’t have as much experience underground as he wanted me to believe. Sure, his quick reflexes had saved my ass several times, especially as I got better at dodging his chain lightning spell myself, but he had never heard of the concept of responsible looting.

As annoying and arrogant as he can be (I bet Vilkas is going to love him), his wit keeps spirits high. In fact, just having another human voice behind me, and feeling a chest breathing next to me is the only thing keeping me sane at this point.

We may have lost track of days, but I can sense he’s making the same effort as me to keep our fear well hidden. It’s been three (or four) times that we’ve crossed the same room, and exhaustion is making it very hard to remember if the door in front of us leads deeper or back outside. Sleep seemed like a dangerous gamble at first, but it’s now a necessity – curled up against each other, we can’t exactly patrol in turns, but it’s so cold that I fear that if I let go of him, he won’t wake up. And then nobody will watch my back.

I have dragged us to our deaths, but I can’t let him notice that.

* * *

“I’d like to go to the top of Dragonsreach and admire the view from there. I hear you can see all of Skyrim from it.” Marcurio said, as he carefully poked at another booby trap.

“Only from three sides – if you look south the Throat of the World kind of ruins it. Still, it’s a canny view.”

“Can you imagine a romantic picnic with that view, on a sunset?”

“Yes. I can imagine a lowly scumbag thinking it’s romantic to make me puke.” In fact, just the idea of going back up there was giving me vertigo. “But it doesn’t matter what I think, just what _he_ thinks of the idea.”

“Right, you’re not the centre of the world. So afraid of heights, aren’t we?”

“Completely. My eyes get blurry and my feet can’t keep themselves straight. I’d much rather have my romantic picnic on a sunny afternoon, by a lake, somewhere green… like lake Ilinalta.” Or the Riverwood bridge, I thought.

“Of course, a simple woman of unelevated tastes. Seems right up the alley of the strapping muscular men you fancy.”

“Yes, I’d give half my wealth for a real man to come and sweep me away.” I rolled me eyes at the thought and we both giggled. A good “night’s” sleep had cleared our heads enough to find, at last, a passage in which we had not been before, which had in turn lifted our spirits enough to animatedly discuss all the relaxing and delicious things we’d eat, do, or shag as soon as left Alftand with the Scroll.

A proper sign of progress was opening a chamber with three dwarven spheres we had not damaged yet. Almost automatically, we both raised our hands in unison to throw sparks at them. Bad idea. The sparks hit one of the spheres, only to bounce into a wall – and then to some sort of oil-based trap that made the very air catch fire and explode.

The gigantic flame spread rapidly, from the other end of the room, towards us. A steadfast ward by Marcurio and an uncharged, but quick Ice Form Shout on my part kept us from roasting, but only barely. I deal with dragons on a regular basis, but I had never seen anything like that. This was no ordinary flame or fireball, it was a blast that shook the walls and scorched the stone around us.

All these millennia later, the Dwemer were having a laugh at us.

After the fright passed, we continued across doors, galleries, stairs. We got lost again, I’m sure, but if we kept going it wouldn’t be evident. I kept hearing a strange sound come from across walls, a faint clinking of metal that went tock-tick tock-tick tock-tick, keeping its own rhythm perfectly. It wouldn’t stop. Marcurio didn’t seem to hear it, but I was too afraid to ask. Either it’s the beast blood, or I’m just going mad.

Following the sound didn’t seem like the worst way to die, so I made us follow it. We knew we had reached the innermost parts of the site when the air became warmer again. Well, Marcurio knew, because he'd read about it on some book.

“They used steam to power their machines, did you know that? They would use the strength of the compressed vapour to move things and to keep themselves warm. Imagine that, Sira! I’m blushing just to think of it.” Truth be told, he was flustered like a maiden, the adorable bookworm.

“I thought that was the steam.”

“Oh, cheer up. We’re getting close. The entrance to Blackreach cannot be too far away.”

“I bet it’s warm in there… what the hell was that!”

A white blur crossed a gallery, some 20 feet below us.

“It looked like an oversized albino skeever. Think we can eat it?” I asked.

“Shit, no! Sira, get down!” Hissed Marcurio. “Falmer, the last thing we needed. Keep your bow at the ready.”

The Falmer were sneaky, quick things – fortunately blind. Those who didn’t fall to my (rather inaccurate) arrows or Marcurio’s lightning were quickly sliced by my swords. We ran down the gallery as soon as we could, looking for a safe position to check for any more enemies.

A stack of large Dwemer amphorae and containers seemed like the ideal position, until we found the corpses of the last poor sods who thought the same. Three bosmer and an orc, possible members of the same expedition we’d found three days or a week ago, lied rotting behind it.

The smell nearly made me stagger right before reaching safe cover. That turned out to be enough time for a sneaky Falmer devil to throw a poisoned lance at me - which stuck itself just midway between my belly button and my pelvis.

“Oh, fuck. Now I’m done for.” I said, just staring at it, feeling the poison spreading like ice across my womb. I didn’t even realise when Marcurio killed the damn devil, or how he jumped back to me to make me swallow potions and heal me as soon as possible. I just remember the pain of my entrails freezing inside me, and crying. His crying.

No, now’s not the time to break. You were doing so well, Marcus.

“We’re going to die in here! Damn you, Sira, we’re going to die!”

“I know, I know. You should’ve asked for more money.”

“You… stupid legendary heroes. Why did I sign up for this?” He wiped his eyes. “I have sisters, you know. One of them was still unmarried, and I have to go home and teach her a thing or two, because back at home no one, and I mean _no one_ , is going to make sure she doesn’t end up as frivolous as the other two. She could improve herself, under the right guidance… but mother will prefer to keep her pleasant and stupid. They kicked me out before I had a chance to tell her, you know? Father actually used her as an excuse, saying he didn’t want my perversion to influence her wrongly, so now she’ll be another vapid, hypocritical and manipulative housewife, unable to think for herself…”

He was no longer crying, but his voice sounded shrill and panicked. He kept rocking me back and forth, while drizzling antidotes over my wound.

“Marcurio, please.” I looked up at him. The dragon doesn’t give up – its companion doesn’t give up, either.

“No, you please yourself, Sira. We’re going to die here, and there’s so many things I haven’t said to so many people, so you’re going to listen. I never told Brynjolf that I knew he was sleeping with one of his pickpockets, either. I tried, but all I managed was to throw some ale at his face, and then the words caught in my throat. Next thing I know there’s a foot in my stomach, and I never got to tell him he’s a horrible, cheating asshole. And I also never got to tell Onmund that I fancy boys too, he told me once after drinking some of Enthir’s sap, I was too busy debating with J’zargo, thinking I’d get another chance. And now I won’t… Onmund is an honest guy, he could’ve...”

My arms were feeling less heavy at last, and the tears dripping on top of me kept me from falling asleep. Instead, I lifted both my arms towards his neck and gave one, deep squeeze.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up. We’re not dying! Nobody’s dying, you hear me? Unless we give up, in which case your sister dies, Onmund dies, Brynjolf dies, everyone dies. But nobody dies now, you crazed wanker. Right now, we live. We stay alive for each other, no matter what, you fucking hear me?”

He was beginning to go purple when he finally nodded and I let go of his neck. He gasped and began to cough violently.

“You madwoman! Fine, we’ll live.” He said, noticing I was out of danger. “You’ll have to rest a bit first. I’ll shut up so you can sleep and we can keep living.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

__

Men and mer alike survive: it is in their nature to delude themselves into believing the way out is always there, and to fight all the more fiercely when their stomachs have been empty for too long.

After Alivar did away with Sira’s mother and Sira did away with Alivar, she found herself living (or pretending to live) on an apprentice’s wages, which were suddenly barely enough to pay for her little hovel’s rent and three daily meals – and definitely not enough to pay the numerous, if relatively small debts Emilia had left behind.

Pretending to be anything less than dirt poor, apparently, required some investment. Alternatively pickpocketing a couple of gems here and there, or swindling travellers out of their gear, made her enough money at first, but it quickly became too dangerous to be anything beyond sporadic: Anvil’s Thieves Guild, wich she had no intention of joining anyway, did not take kindly to competition or her signature paralysis poison – the real money-maker in her skill set. 

She had other, riskier, skills (and what’s wrong with risking everything when there’s nothing to lose?): a good game of cards at the inn, cheating or not, could make the difference between a new fine gown this month or a grumbling stomach for what’s left of the fortnight. 

When all her gambles failed, there was always Pullo’s lap. The former adventurer was now over 70 and had lost most of his teeth, but he’d been once fabulously wealthy – and despite his lavish habits, he’d managed to keep enough to lack nothing. Pullo was always eager to believe himself still attractive and important, and to share food and drinks with any young flower willing to let herself be rubbed “for good luck”.

* * *

Blackreach announced itself with two more, even fresher, corpses. At least these did not stink of decay or of any of the poisonous threats that awaited us once inside. They did, however, seem to have killed each other – but why? The only company all the way down here? This place clearly makes people mad.

What a beautiful place, Blackreach was. The ancient cavern was probably twice as high as Dragonsreach and bigger than all of Whiterun, and it was full of strange, glowing mushrooms and glimmering ore veins. Ancient Dwemer buildings and towers littered the landscape, mostly alongside a pitch black river. I felt we had stepped out onto a fantasy realm.

In reality, Blackreach was little more than Nirn's largest coffin.

Falmer abounded, alongside Chauruses, trolls, and giants. Out of them, only the giants did not seem intent on killing us. What a beautiful place to die. The chunks of ice in my womb were now indistinguishable from the holes of hunger in my stomach, and my limbs were moving based mostly on the memory of what walking was about. At least I had rested enough to keep myself on my own two feet – unlike Marcurio. 

Carrying him was beyond my abilities. Better to just stare at the glowing mushrooms and fade in such a legendary site. Wherever we end up, we’ll find everybody we know in a while, once Alduin has eaten the world whole.

“You know, now that we’re so close to the end, I’ve realised I’ve only ever been truly alive when fighting dragons.” I said, kind of to nobody, after stopping and resting against a big rock.

“Don’t you start with that now. We’re not close to the end.”

“We are. What would I give for one last dragon… there’s just a way they dare you, like they recognise that I’m carrying the souls of their peers, and they want to best _them_ by besting _me_. Just going mad and proving them wrong, feeding off their mistake, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve felt.”

“And you’ll feel it again.”

“No. I won’t. I’d need a dragon, nothing replaces it. You know the first time I killed a dragon, I went so wild with that adrenaline that I ran to a nearby town and jumped at man’s crotch? A nice, outstanding man, too, one that I could’ve kept around if I hadn’t used him like that. But doesn’t matter now, does it? He’ll die too, now that we’ve failed. All the people who’ve made me feel inferior, they’ll die too, at least.”

“NOBODY DIES! You promised, Sira. We stay alive here, right? Now get up!” He threw my arm around his shoulder and tried to pull.

“You can’t carry me. I’m bigger than you, Marcurio.”

“I don’t care. We’re walking. The Tower of M’zark is just there.”

“Is this about your sister? Or about not wasting your life over 500 septims?”

“It’s about being the strong one here, if you’re set on just… letting yourself die like a milkdrinker.”

The dragons shook at that word.

“Monks, mages, and such milkdrinkers.” I straightened myself up. “What was your sister’s name? Not all three, just the one we like?”

“Camilla.”

“I’ll write to her, after we reach Whiterun and Aela kills you. You’ll see. You’ll drive her mad.”

I began walking.

“Wait, Sira! My leg’s cramped. Help me.”

The tower of M’zark was really not that far away, and we were still holding each other up when we reached it. Once inside, with the Elder Scroll within reach of our fingers, we managed to rest before facing a new kind of mental torture: the machine that hid it. Marcurio was sure that Septimus had told us how to do it, but we hadn’t paid enough attention to his metaphysical ramblings. 

“He said the Dwemer found a way by letting the light pass” He insisted.

“He said tons of stupid stuff. Look where it got us.” I stared at the big machine, the Lexicon’s receptacles, and the adjacent buttons. “Just poke at the buttons until it’s done, mate.”

“A trader’s daughter should know how many combinations can stem from just four buttons.”

“We had stewards for that. So, letting the light pass? Through the glass, maybe?”

“Of course. You’re a genius! Give me a second here.”

Maybe an hour later, he finally figured out how to make the light pass through all the rotating glass in the machine. We got the Scroll. We were going home to keep living – and there was a lift just behind us!

The scenery once back up was completely confusing. Definitely Skyrim – but where? There was no snow, just hills with no landmarks.

* * *

We crawled back to Whiterun one morning – I will never know which day of the week. We were injured, our backpacks filled to the point of bursting with random objects (we could not throw them away, lest the whole ordeal became pointless or we had to admit we had reached our limit), and still famished. It was a rather warm day, though, although my hands and stomach felt like ice. We carried each other, each step now a torture, from the Plains district up to the Winds one, and then to Jorrvaskr.

We were home and alive. I saw Aela drinking with Athis inside the mead hall, I heard Erik telling Ria something, and I smelled Torvar’s roasted venison. And then I saw nothing.

I woke up at the Temple of Kynareth, right before sunset. Marcurio was just beside me, looking pale still, wearing temple robes too.

“How long has it been?” I asked.

“Maybe two hours since I woke up. Apparently you were right, overexertion alone cannot kill you. Of course, in your case, there was the small matter of the festering belly wound from a poisoned arrow.”

“Ugh. I hope I did not faint in front of everyone.”

“You hope wrong. The burlier twin caught you, fortunately.”

“Ah, sweet old Farkas. How embarassing”

“Indeed. I’d mock you, but I found myself collapsed and on a chair less than a minute after that. The Dunmer was just getting us some flowers to eat, something about bleeding gums, when my legs gave out. Vilkas was beside himself.”

“Saying I’m an irresponsible, entitled child, I bet.” I propped myself up.

“More like saying I am, for letting anything happen to you. I’m so glad you’re awake, mate, I need good news at hand for when they send me out. They’re a violent lot, your Companions, I would hate to harm them.”

“Yes, I’d hate to see the results of you trying to harm them. I’m starving. How great is that?” I beamed.


	32. Reknitting bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jorrvaskr welcomes back Sira warmly, and seemingly nothing has changed. However, there are hints of new feelings and new secrets brewing.

It was very out of character for Danica to grant me every piece of food I would ask for, so I shouldn’t have been so surprised when she insisted I stayed the night. Marcurio’s overexertion was not getting the same special treatment, though, which felt unfair – and he had no qualms about pointing it out.

I suppose Falmer poison is not something to play with, but really, if something was about to _spiritually distress_ me, it was her assumption that a simple arrow wound would damage me permanently. Sure, my womb may never act the same... but it's not like using it had ever been part of my life plan. And her sad staring. Divines, her sad staring. She must have seen a lot of horrible things lately, and my inaction is largely responsible for that.

Such depressing thoughts didn’t last long as I walked back to Jorrvaskr, just after breakfast. I found Marcurio leaning against the main door, waiting for me. 

“Shouldn’t you be resting inside?” I asked.

“I felt a bit like I was intruding. Also, I wanted to give you this.” 

He handed me a large cylinder, covered in a cloth sack.

“Is this the Scroll?”

His eyes gleamed with mischief.

“I snuck it out of your rucksack earlier. Breathe deeply before you open that door, you’re going to need a trophy to exhibit.”

He placed a hand on the doorknob. “Ready?”

Everything became a flurry of hugs and laughter. Everyone was there, which was oddly touching. I waved the Elder Scroll around a bit while Aela hugged me and Torvar banged his tankard on the table. I shook Jerome the Breton Newbie’s hand and was cheered on by Ria and Erik.

My vanity was definitely enjoying the hero welcome, but my stamina wasn’t up for it. Just as I was about to ask for a chair, I noticed a pair of eyes who should’ve been disapproving of my self-importance. However, Vilkas wasn’t frowning, and he didn’t even look stern. He was openly smiling.

“We have much to discuss” he said. Smiling made his voice different, slightly higher than usual. That must be why he never did it.

“We do. I trust the Harbinger’s studio is decent?” I said with a light nod, and he followed me downstairs.

The Harbinger’s quarters – my quarters, really, although I had fully expected Vilkas to have taken over them – looked every bit as I’d left them, both the studio and the bedroom. In turn, I had left them half-cleared, letting the twins take Kodlak’s personal possessions but never daring to re-arrange any furniture or even add any personal items of my own.

Display cases still had Kodlak’s war axes, all but one of the cupboards had male clothes on them, and shelves were empty, while my books were stashed on a corner. The room seemed caught in the limbo between a shrine to our lost Harbinger and a storage room for the absent one – and Vilkas could tell, I knew.

“I haven’t been using the room, as you can see.” He said with a shrug. “It still feels odd to be here without him.”

I closed the door behind me. “I’m sorry. That… can’t be healthy.”

“It’s not your fault. I could’ve moved stuff around too. Well, now you’re here, so… alphabetical?” He said, pointing at the pile of books.

“By subject, then by size. Looks prettier that way.”

“And impractical, but of course, you’ll have it pretty and shiny.” He said.

“Oh, shut up and help me sort them.”

“I’ll shut up, but only so you can give me a detailed account of everything that’s happened.”

“You want a report now? Do I need to fetch your mead too?”

“You could’ve had Aela be your stand-in. You made your bed, Sira.” He said, smiling still.

By the time I finished retelling everything that happened between the excavation at Saarthal and the emotional moments at the Tower of M’zark, all the books were ready to be placed in the shelves, and lunchtime was in a tray that Tilma had brought us. 

A full stomach was just what we needed to discuss the steps ahead, anyway.

“Well, the Kel is essentially worthless here, I must open it at the Time Wound if I want to see the Dragonrend shout in action. It seems like it can make me blind if I try to read it, too, so I’m not about to try just out of curiosity.”

“So back to High Hrothgar as soon as possible, then?”

“Essentially, yes. I still need to talk to Marcurio about it. I did hire him for at least six months, but we both need a few days’s respite.” I also needed to find a proper time to explain to him what was expecting us at the Throat of the World, and cross my fingers he’d deal with it better than Aela did.

“So everything worked out with the mage? You didn’t murder each other, at least.”

“And that’s such a feat, where I’m concerned, right? At some point, while in Alftand, we might have.” I shuddered as I remembered the last two corpses we’d found before Blackreach. “I still don’t know how long we were in there. We could’ve easily lost ourselves. I almost wished you’d been there with us, keeping order. Imagine the desperation, eh?” I forced a smile.

“We were incredibly worried, Sira. Your last message had been very confusing, especially that bit about the Thalmor agent. And then we had no news of you for over a fortnight! Farkas urged me to send a courier to Winterhold, to some of the names you mentioned in your letters, but I was afraid to set the Thalmor on your trail. I feared the worst, at some point.”

This explained why he’d been so happy to see me, but I still had no idea how to reply. He seemed to have slipped out of bantering mood, and looked closer to his usual sullen self. I simply stayed quiet, carefully arranging my books.

“Should we go over numbers, then?” He finally said, breaking the tension.

* * *

The real homecoming came with supper. Squeezed between Vilkas and Marcurio, I noticed how crowded the hall was: it was very rare to find the entire guild together for a common dinner. A strong statement about how dead I’d seemed while at Alftand, at least.

Fortunately, there was still an available bed for Marcurio, and the Circle had made sure to stifle any potential complaints about him staying there. Milkdrinking mage or not, we’d carried each other from Blackreach to Whiterun with sheer will as our only fuel, and he deserved better than a bed at the Bannered Mare.

Mourning had passed and coin was flowing, so Jorrvaskr had recovered most of its initial rough comradeship. Even Aela, who had been very close to abandoning us for the Blades, seemed to have taken to hunting with Jerome, which had “kept her sane” – her own words. She smirked almost continuously as she carved ever bigger cuts of meat for me and Marcurio, who “looked like he could use some bulking” – again, her own words.

Farkas seemed content as well: he’d appropriated most training responsibilities, which was pleasant, “I get to give orders without having to think much, it’s fun.” That left Athis with little competition to take the most delicate and lucrative jobs, and with enough authority to choose which whelp to bring along.

“I told you, it’s all about the riches and glory for me, and I’m getting plenty.” It was the closest to a smile we were likely to get from him, so I drank to that.

Njada was personally mentoring Erik and his notoriously clumsy shield arm, with enough success to keep him from getting slayed. Ria was full of knowing, flirty smiles as she retold the story of how she’d killed bear in Gerdur’s mill in Riverwood just 3 weeks ago.

“And here’s the best part – just as I was leaving, bear pelt in tow, I ran into a friend of yours, Alvor.” Aela and the twins immediately turned to follow the rest of that story. “He sends his regards, of course, but he also paid me an extra good price for the pelt…”

“I don’t recall seeing a share of that extra coin.” Aela pointed out.

“And he wouldn’t let me leave without a gift for you! I’ve been carrying it all evening, here.” She handed me a plain package, which, to everyone’s amusement, I snatched off her hands.

“Well? I’m dying to see what farmboy’s family bought for you.” Marcurio said. Aela sniggered.

It was a pair of carefully decorated scale bracers – clearly made with more care than the pieces he usually sold. Around the wrists, he’d replaced some of the steel scales with silver ones, forming the Seal of Akatosh - which decorated all the Legion's banners. As the colours were quite similar, it remained discreet and almost hidden – it was only when lights hit it that the Akaviri Dragon glimmered.

It was the kind of gift you get for _family_ , which was something I'd never wanted - and that Danica said I'd never have. 

“He didn’t buy these.” I said, trying to hide how touched I was. “And he put some thought into it, too.”

An awkward silence threatened, but only until Vignar snorted. His clan’s derision for the Empire was no secret.

“Yes, I know Eorlund could’ve crafted something better, but it’s a sweet detail!” I said.

“You can never have too many bracers. You’ll need them when you start training again.” Divines bless you, Farkas.

“Oh, why does he look sick at the idea of training?” Torvar said, pointing at Marcurio.

“Oy, be nice to my mage, there! I’ve grown fond of him, I need him alive.”

“Cheers to that.” Marcurio said, who did look a bit green.

“Don’t sing victory yet. You do need training. Someone take care of that, please?”

“Well, someone is back to her old habits.” Vilkas remarked, good naturedly.

“We all get one horrible flaw that makes the rest of the team look better, don’t we? Torvar is too much of a mead expert, Farkas always sets off ALL floor traps, I’m a bossy princess, and you can’t handle competition.” I winked.

“Ah, you two are at it again! If only you could be more like me…” Aela joined in, to everyone’s laughter.

“What, a Thief’s Guild spy?” Vilkas replied, rising to the challenge.

Marcurio tugged at my sleeve and whispered. “What an adorable thing you have going on here. Caught you in your lie, though.”

“What?”

“You said there was nothing going on with your, hmph, second in command?”

“There isn’t.”

“Prove it. He’s prone to jealousy, you said?” He turned away from my ear and raised his voice. “Oh, Sira, don’t forget to thank Athis for the flowers! Really cheered up your bunk at the Temple, didn’t they?”

Daedra take the mage: Vilkas scent did change noticeably, even if just for one second.

“Yes, thanks for the reminder” I smiled, while kicking the evil mage under the table. “I know they were supposed to be eaten, but they were lovely, Athis.”

Still smiling, I whispered to Marcurio. “You’re dead. I’ll have him train you tomorrow.”

* * *

Forced rest is never as pleasurable as rebellious procrastination, so it took me less than three days to grow restless. An endless list of menial and frivolous inconveniences kept interfering with our departure: Jarl Balgruuf had to consult his Thane about the city’s defences, while his mage needed a College student’s opinion on issues that were far beyond my level.

Meanwhile, Vilkas had an endless list of decisions that required my opinion, which made no sense. In the three months I’d been away with Marcurio, Vilkas had managed to single-handedly fix everything that I’d neglected around Jorrvaskr, so why was he giving me the chance to wreck it again?

“He’s trying to teach you something, you idiot! You will get the position back at some point, won’t you?” Marcurio’s response at my ranting was slightly blunter than usual, but easy to blame on the embarrassment of the horker tusk incident.

Ugh, Vilkas. I was barely done being puzzled by my stand-in’s odd friendliness, and now Marcurio’s little jealousy-inducing stunt had made me very aware of the undeniable changes in scent and heartbeat that resulted from every conversation we had.

There were clearly a lot of things being left unsaid between Vilkas and me – possibly just friendship, and concern, but maybe a bit of longing homesickness? – but it was best not to acknowledge them. After all, Vilkas had the wolf blood too, and he'd had it for longer: he was going to notice any change in my scent. Way to mess with my head, Marcurio.

“Either way, we still have an hour or two until the guards change shifts.” He continued. We were standing on the rails by the Western gate, soaking up the sun and looking for privacy. “Do we really need all those resist fire potions to go to High Hrothgar? I’m mostly concerned about going hungry and cold again on the way up the mountain.”

“Right, about the ‘up the mountain’ bit, maybe you’d rather wait for me in Ivarstead?”

“Sira! Are you planning to ditch me in that boring little town? After everything we’ve been through to get that Scroll, together! I’ve earned the right to participate in this… experiment of yours!”

“Marcus, listen. I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t care! And don’t call me that! You don’t get to have cute nicknames for me if you keep trying to exclude me!”

“I didn’t think you’d mind! I mean, I’ll still be paying you and everything. There’s no need to...”

“Oh, of course you’ll be paying me, that’s all that matters. Clearly, I’m just some magicka for hire, I don’t deserve the same considerations as your real Companions.”

"That’s not true.” Except it kind of was: strictly speaking, he _was_ a hireling. “It’s not my decision.”

“Oh, did Vilkas decide for you, then?”

“No, the Greybeards did! They wouldn’t let Aela come with me last time, so I simply figured you’d rather wait around at a warm inn in Ivarstead than in the freezing courtyard at High Hrothgar. There's nothing to do there, and nobody to talk to, you know?”

He stared at me in disbelief. I guess I deserved that.

“You’re welcome to ask her if you want.” I added.

“Oh, trust me, I will!”

“Well, fine!”

“So there’s no other way up to the Throat, then?” He asked, more calmly now, but looking severely disappointed.

“Not that I know of. So unless you’re willing to sneak their way through their monastery with an invisibility potion…”

“Sure, why not?”

“You’re not serious.”

“I’ll have you know, my dear Sira, that unlike you heavy-footed Companions, I’m very skilled at stealth. Must be my superior intelligence, quick reflexes, and lithe body build…”

“And a lifetime of hiding nightly visitors from your parents...”

“Sure, that too. Either way, I’m up for it. I am scholar as well as an adventurer, I must witness the results of you trying to use an Elder Scroll. I won’t even have to risk blindness myself! I’m not missing this for all the money in the world.”

I rolled my eyes. Marcurio’s arrogance could occasionally give an Altmer a run a for their money.

“Right. So you mentioned a secret plan to make ourselves rich? It better not involve scamming any more drug dealers.”

“Of course not. I’m thinking something much more refined than that – and not quite a scam, either. I struck a deal with J’zargo before we left. He gave me a bunch of scrolls that needed testing – some flame cloak spell to use against undead, as if we weren’t experts in dealing with draugr already – in exchange for a very rare spell book called Transmute, one that will turn iron ore into gold.”

“That… is genius. Or evil.”

“Both. So I say we stop at some old tomb on the way to Ivarstead, test J’zargo’s scrolls, and then head there after we see the Greybeard master. Then we can just buy every bit of iron we find and resell it for five times the prize.”

“I wholeheartedly endorse the plan, except for one detail.”

“Oh, come on, Sira, don’t be craven!”

“I’m sorry, but last time I lent myself as a test subject for one of you mages, I ended up green!”

“But this is for the draugr! Worst case scenario, it doesn’t die, and I’ll be just behind you to finish it off. Please?”

“What if this Transmute spell doesn’t even work? I've never heard of it.”

“It will. I’ve read about it before, it’s not J’zargo’s invention. Written instructions for it are incredibly hard to come by, for some reason” Such as its potential to wreck the Empire’s economy “but I promise I’ll teach it to you properly.”

“Why don’t _you_ test the scrolls?”

“Fine. I will, and I will also keep all the money. You can be my steward after I buy half of Solitude.”

Oh, the bloody asshole.

“Right, I cannot let you face such a danger by yourself. Speaking of unexpected risks, there’s one thing I haven’t mentioned about the Greybeard master, Paarthurnax.”

“Will he try to harm me for sneaking up his mountain?”

“Not unless you attack him first, so it’s very important that you accidentally don’t.”

“I don’t usually accidentally attack old monks, Sira.”

Sure you don’t, you just shock them into paralysis. “He’s a dragon. An ancient dragon, and Alduin’s younger brother.”

Marcurio dropped himself against the wall, looking for support. “Fuck, you better make me rich, girl.”


	33. To each their own comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sira gets an ugly, scary glimpse of where her mission will take her, and immediately begins plotting of ways to stall it by meddling into politics.

I knew he didn’t want to talk to me, and I didn’t really mind the breach of contract – I would’ve done exactly the same if I were him – but I knew I could not responsibly let him walk away from me after hearing that blood dragon’s roar.

As good as he was in destruction magic, a second dragon was bound to be the last thing he wanted to face today - not just after the nightmare that was having Alduin hunt us down at the top of that mountain.

And to make it worst, _he escaped_. One to get away from the crazy mortals who very nearly killed him, and the other one to get away from the crazy bitch intent on getting him killed.

Every dragon I’d eaten so far protested fiercely at Alduin’s cowardice. Avenging their hunger and my pride was not the smallest of my motivations, but nobody needed to know, right? I had only been stalking Marcurio for half an hour after he headed west of Ivarstead, when he finally left the protection of nearby trees and was spotted by the dragon.

The battle was quick and fierce – I was not the only angry one, and I now had a special shout to make the little bugger land. We’d just faced Alduin, we’d nearly killed it, we’d nearly died – we had a lot to make up for. As the dragon’s scorched bones crumbled next to the road and I relished subduing its soul, I went mad. Indignation and violence seeped out of every pore in my skin, with an intensity I hadn’t felt since that horrible night at the Western Watchtower. And we all know how _that_ ended up.

I heard Marcurio call my name from a distance – completely obscured by the 15 beasts fighting for vengeance inside me. I was going to lose it. I managed to turn and cry to him to stand back and let me be, only to run further away and Shout at a pile of rocks.

They crumbled and rolled down the hill, but the world was not destroyed enough. I took my swords and slashed at old tree trunks, Shouted ice at more bushes, screamed until my voice when raw, bloodied my knuckles against the ground, and finally kneeled down and tore a chunk of my own hair out. 

It would’ve been so much easier to just shag someone.

_Would I get to do so before being dragged into the afterlife?_

I thought he’d left – I was expecting him to simply continue onto Riften, seeing as he’d been so eager to abandon me on the way down from the Throat. It took me a while to recognise the hand in front of me, offering to help me up, as his.

“Damn you, woman! A quiet stroll down the woods is just impossible with you, isn’t it?” He said, as I composed myself. “How long had you been following me?”

“A while. I’m surprised you didn’t notice. I’m not stealthy, remember?”

He chuckled, but said nothing.

“Well, before we go our separate ways, I just wanted to thank you. I should’ve died up there, and down at Saarthal and Alftand, at least a dozen times. I sort of owe you everything now. I’m sorry.” I said.

“Well, I suppose I would’ve died as well if it weren’t for you. Of course, I wouldn’t have been dragged into most of that danger… but eventually one of these lone dragons would’ve found me and eaten me all the same.” He walked up towards the river and paused for a while before turning back to me. “I suppose if you die, we’ll all die as well and I won’t even have the chance to spend all the gold I’ve made with you. So be it.” He smirked.

Ah, the idiot was going to make me beg!

“Please stay, Marcurio. Don’t leave me, I won’t last a day without you, oh great master of the Arcane.” I said, trying really hard not to roll my eyes too much.

“Was that so hard?”

“You manipulative bastard!” I laughed, approaching him. “Out of curiosity, when exactly did it become an attention-seeking stunt?”

He threw himself on a patch of grass next to the river and took off his shoes.

“After the dragon found me, if I’m to be honest.”

“What, that puny blood dragon?” I teased, as I rummaged my pockets for a slice of apple pie. “Hardly a task for someone like you, I hope?”

“You blood-thirsty hero, there’s no such thing as a puny dragon.” He took the peace offering and munched for a while. “You are still manipulative, untrustworthy, clumsy, and have a unique ability to attract danger, but you also have a unique dragon-killing shout, so I guess that makes you my best choice at staying alive.”

“Am I really so untrustworthy?”

“Of course not! You just have a penchant for leaving out key pieces of information out of every task you set out in front of me.”

“Ah, well, if it’s just that…”

“This is no joke, Sira! At the very least, I think I deserve more information than the one usually granted to mere _hirelings_.” He spat as he said the last word. What’s with all the needy men in my life? If I didn’t need them, I’d castrate them all, I swear.

“I really didn’t know Alduin would be there. I know I don’t have the best track record so you may not believe me, but it’s the truth. I’ve seen the World Eater twice before, once at Helgen where I got all the scars on my leg, and once at Kynesgrove, where I literally pissed myself.” I stopped for a few seconds so he’d have enough time to finish chuckling. “If I’d known Alduin would come looking for us earlier, I wouldn’t just not have taken you there – I would’ve done anything to avoid the face-off myself.”

He remained pensive for a while, as if pondering whether to believe me.

"And afterwards? All that roaring back and forth with the old dragon? That was terrifying, by the way. I didn't know if he was giving you advice or asking for food."

"Instructions. Not as many as I'd liked, but dragon speech is slow and complex. A way to chase after Alduin and finish the job once and for all."

I repeated what Paarthurnax had said about Alduin escaping to a secret temple to regain his strength, and the plot to force one of his lieutenants to show me the way by trapping it inside Dragonsreach. I carefully left out the part where that temple was supposed to allow me to enter Sovngarde. The idea of joining the dead was too terrifying to even mutter out loud.

“So what now? Do we do what Paarthurnax said? Can we still trust him?” he asked, placing his hand reassuringly on my shoulder.

My own blood had frozen when Paarthurnax said Alduin would be coming, but back then I had not been bothered with Marcurio’s reaction.

“He definitely knew Alduin was coming, which makes me doubt whether this dragon trap scheme is worth anything.” I replied. “I’d rather not think about it. The truth is, we have no better alternative, or anyone else to trust.” I stressed the we in the same way he had. The terms of our relationship were going to change, even if the details remained unspoken.

“Maybe Esbern can confirm that story about Dragonsreach?” Clearly more relaxed now, he asked.

“Unnecessary. I’d heard it before from Jarl Balgruuf himself. I suppose that should make it easier to convince him of letting us burn his palace down.” I didn’t really believe that, but I made an effort to sound reassuring. Was that still a lie?

“We won’t know until we ask.” He pointed out. “So I say we pay a visit to your Blades anyway, via Winterhold, and make ourselves rich in the way, before we try to swindle Balgruuf.”

That sounded like a long, illogical detour, so of course I immediately agreed. So what if Alduin was feeding off the souls of the Nord dead? He didn't need to eat mine so soon.

“Sounds like the perfect task for two silver-tongued Imperials. I absolutely cannot miss J’zargo’s face when we tell him his bloody scrolls exploded on me. Eyebrows are a nightmare to grow back.” I added, while playing with some twigs.

“Ah, please! It will even out with the other one, stop whining about it already.” He jumped knee-deep in the river and washed his face. “So, do you think history will remember me as well as the mighty Dragonborn?”

“I hope not, for your sake. I have the horrible feeling that we’ll do plenty we’ll wish to forget ourselves before this mess is over.”

“Oh, but think of the free drinks!”

* * *

The Drunken Hunstman, marginally less centric than the Bannered Mare, was all the discretion we could hope for inside Whiterun – and it still required drinking in our room rather than the common room, and doing business with a Khajiit caravan and the Warmaiden, instead of Belethor and Eorlund.

Jarl Balgruuf had agreed to our main request – but under harsh conditions. Personally, I’d have almost preferred it if he’d just said no, instead of asking us to stop the bloody civil war. Fortunately, Marcurio’s spirits weren’t so low.

“Stop the hand-wringing, Sira. Let’s just deal with this, one step at a time.” He said, as he poured himself more Honningbrew.

“All seven thousand of them.”

“Right attitude, but with less drama. So we go back to High Hrothgar and we secure Arngeir’s permission. He won’t refuse the Dragonborn, but he’ll be more helpful if we don’t simply inform him via courier. As easy as it gets, except on our butts."

“Then we’ll need to be received by both sides. Which side you reckon we should address first? I have the feeling General Tullius doesn’t keep with the Nord tradition of giving audience to everyone who knocks on their door, and Ulfric may as well make an exception to that rule when it’s two Imperials concerned.”

“Except one imperial is the Dragonborn, a beloved Nordic legend with strong links to his beloved Talos. Just wear a helmet to hide your hair so you’ll look more like a real Nord. If he receives us, it’s a done deal, Tullius won’t allow himself to be outdone.”

“That’s only if Ulfric receives us _and_ agrees to come to the summit.”

“Forget the ifs. He will agree. We’ll make him agree. No, better yet, the people of Windhelm will make him agree, once we make sure they all know who you are, what you can do, and what you represent.”

“And what do I represent, exactly?”

“Legendary support for his cause, from the blood of Talos himself?”

“You do realise that I neither support Ulfric nor have the smallest shred of evidence that I have any blood link with Tiber Septim?”

“Well, I was hoping you wouldn't begin the audience with that."

"Ah, so you want me to lie?"

"Oh, like that's such a big issue for you now. It doesn’t matter who we support, really. He trained with the Greybeards, he’s clearly quite comfortable with Shouting your way into politics. But Tullius, with all his more civilised chain of command, cannot afford to look like the inflexible one – especially if it’s seen as disrespecting local traditions.”

“A fine line between self-advertising and treason we’ll be walking. Vilkas would be so proud of you.” I clinked our tankards together, as I said that.

“Meh, like he has eyes left for me. He can take all the comfort he wants in his honour, we’re the ones saving the world.” Marcurio said, all smugness. He’s liking the we business – that was good, all things considered.

“Riiight, so back to the step-by-step method… I need a couple of my finest gowns and jewellery, and maybe two giftable daggers to oil some hinges?”

“We can enchant two nice Skyforge Steel daggers. Well, I can.”

“All of that, without being asked too many questions by the Companions, and if possible, without being noticed by the rest of the city. Last thing we want is for the Grey-Manes and the Battle- Borns to hear of this and begin knifing each other by the Gildergreen again.”

Marcurio raised an eyebrow at my last statement.

“Oh, that happened. Two years ago, apparently, it was a wretched business that costed both clans dearly. If we rekindle that spark, Balgruuf will withdraw his support, rest assured of that.” I explained.

“Great. That prospect is worth another slice of cheese, I hope?”

“By all means. And while we’re celebrating, here.” I stood up and took a big coin purse and threw it at him.

“What’s this? There must be at least 800 septims here!” He said, quite surprised.

“835. That’s your half of what I sold to the caravan and the Valeriuses. Three glass daggers, an ebony greatsword, two steel axes, four garnets, and 18 transmuted gold ingots. As of right now, you’re no longer my hireling. Cheers to that.”

“My equal half?” He said, blinking slowly like some sort of impaired Khajiit.

“What does half mean in the capital, my dear?”

He stood up and hugged me.

“Oh, Sira! This is the most touching thing anyone’s ever done for me. Pity we don’t have proper wine to toast to this.”

“I do hope those tears are fake, you milkdrinker.”


	34. Head held up high

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to negotiate a truce between Stormcloaks and Imperials is no easy task, not even for a legendary hero. In Windhelm, her audience is hard to impress enough that a few flirty compliments just won't cut it - setting off the need for an entire public relations strategy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very fun and very hard to write. Season unending was probably the quest with the most potential in the game, as far as role-playing goes. Most of it wasn’t doable in-game, but I‘ve always been fascinated by everything it would take to actually negotiate a truce during a civil war. Sira was initially conceived in my head as a Nanowrimo project about a low-class foreigner who has to find a way to be received by big political players – but she needed a backstory. I could’ve done a whole fic for Season Unending, really.

Whatever little joy we had during the uncomfortable journey north stemmed from Marcurio’s delight at Chief, his new horse. Linea was jealous: I suspect she was not oblivious to the unfortunate implications of such a name choice. Or perhaps Farkas was right and we all like to put pieces of ourselves in our animals.

Either way, I’d sworn myself never to return to this shithole, and here I was, following a most condescending plan to make the people of Windhelm love me: just go around being nice to everybody, doing things for people. For free.

I was raised better than this.

If the prospect of licking Ulfric’s behind was already a mortal wound on my vanity, forcing myself to stand idly before the bullies that terrorised the Grey Quarter nearly drove me to pieces. The dragon refused to be tamed, but one of the bullies' leaders was a Stone-Fist, kin to one of Ulfric’s generals. I had to be pushed back to Candlehearth Hall so I wouldn’t irreversibly ruin our reputation in town.

“We’ll go back to that Cornerclub some other day, I suppose. I am dying to see it, I wonder if it will be as interesting as the one hidden behind Tiber Septim Plaza…” Marcurio chattered while pushing me upstairs.

Well, at least here I’d get the privacy of my own room – not that he didn’t seem more than willing to hang out in mine, if at least to have someone to listen to his incessant chatter. It was the only auspicious sign we’d seen in Windhelm the entire morning.

“Oh, I do want to hear what your perverted mind considers interesting for a cornerclub. I believe the New Gnisis is just a tavern, to be honest.”

“How disappointing. The Praetor’s Cornerclub, on the other hand, hid some of the most beautiful men in the Capital, lost among some of its worst.”

“Hate to disappoint you, Marcus, but I don’t think you’ll find such an establishment anywhere in Skyrim. They hardly seem necessary anyway, if you can try your luck at a normal tavern without being beaten up.” I pointed out, while attempting to detangle my curls. “Welcome to the free-thinking, frozen North!”

“Old fears die hard, I guess. I’m always terrified of buying any man a drink. What’s stopping him from dragging me back out and maiming me in retaliation?” 

“Your mastery of destruction magic?” He scoffed at my simple suggestion.

“You ought to admit, we have it harder than most. At the very least, most men are into women, so your chances of success are always higher.”

“Right. I am a woman, after all, in addition to the bloody Dragonborn. Either way, if you need pointers, our beloved Ysolda told me once that Elrindir had a thing going for the younger Battle-Born, Jon.”

Ah, that spiked his interest.

“The one who’s overly fond of his Imperial armour? He’s a real looker. A bit overpresumptuous, but smart.”

“Now you’re just describing yourself. Anyway, that’s Idolaf you’re thinking about, and he’s married, so no. Jon’s the bard, remember him? Wears a ponytail, just like yours. He’s taken now, rumour has it, some sort of secret liason with a Gray-Mane girl.”

“And Ysolda told you all this? Well, there goes my chance. What about Elrindir? Isn’t he the owner of the Inn we were staying at? Why am I only learning about this now?”

“I’m sorry, it didn’t come up, I guess. Ugh, stuck again.” I winced, as my comb risked losing a few teeth right above my ear. 

“Here, allow me. Anything else I should know?”

“Vilkas says his nicer half also leans both ways. However, Farkas claims it was just the one time, but he’s not closing himself to anything. That seems to be the custom here, actually, if Ysolda is to be believed about Carlotta and Uthgerd - I wouldn’t, though, the woman’s imagination has been affected by the skooma, I swear.” 

“But dear Vilkas should stay untouched, I bet? I fear you are enjoying this conversation too much, giving me all these false leads. I should go offer our services around the common room before the lunch rush passes.” He placed my comb on the dresser and stepped outside.

“Aye, you go get them, sabre cat.”

* * *

Vilkas was right: The Dragonborn Comes was one hell of an annoying song. However, I could see the logic behind getting Luaffyn, the local bard, to play it at regular intervals.

By next morning, at least, work was lined up before us, although most of it rather menial and unlikely to be worthy of the attention of anyone at the Palace of Kings. The closest thing we got was to deliver something for his court wizard – which Marcurio was able to do while being escorted by a guard during his entire time there.

Welcome to the free-thinking North, indeed – where everyone was equal to the strength of their own arms, provided they belonged to the right race. 

Meanwhile, my constant efforts to stay as uninvolved as possible with anything concerning the city’s Dunmer population were gnawing at my conscience (turns out, I still had one), but there was no way around it: most of the city’s guards were openly taunting anyone deemed to be an “elf lover”, and we were already dealing with enough derision as it was.

I could almost not blame Windhelm’s citizens over it, desperate as they seemed in their grim, rundown city. Beggars had to eat, and even rich families were terrified of the political situation, with a major clan having lost a daughter to a rather gruesome killer. At least nobody was falsely accusing us of the murders, like the Solitude guards tried to do with Athis that one time.

Shit, Athis. I’m failing you as well with my inaction, my friend.

Our moods turned sour rather quickly – even Marcurio lost his signature upbeat quirks after just two days. Not only did he look much more the Cyrod than I did (I could always pass off so long as I kept my helmet on and my mouth shut), but he was a mage, which made him the recipient of the harshest namecalling. Either way, it seemed like our closest chance at surmounting prejudice was to summon a dragon and battle it front of everyone.

“You can summon dragons? What, with a shout?” He asked, incredulously, after I mentioned the possibility over dinner.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I can’t. And even if I could, I wouldn’t, not to a city full of people. It wouldn’t earn us anyone’s love.”

“So what do we do? Should we just walk in and demand an audience? Cross our fingers they don’t take us straight to a dungeon?”

“We may as well, right? We’ll just walk in there with our heads held high, like the criminals we’re not, and if they jail us, they jail us, and they can be eaten by bloody Alduin, and they’ll deserve every bit of it.”

“You don’t mean that, do you, Sira?”

“Not really. But maybe I could Shout the walls of the dungeon down? It would prove my Thu’um to be stronger than Ulfric’s, at least.”

“Well, something will come up, I’m sure. In the meantime, what do you think of fetching a legendary sword, for 800 septims?” He offered. “I could use the workout.”

“Say again?”

“Oengul, down at the blacksmith quarters, wants a legendary sword, one that belonged to Queen Freydis, to use it as a model for a newer legendary sword. He’s offering 800 septims, we could negotiate for one thousand if you want.”

“Are you kidding me? How long have you known this?”

“Ha! I knew this would make you excited. It’s a fair bit of coin-”

“Mate, are you daft? A legendary sword, and you’re worried about coin? Did your friend the blacksmith tell you who the sword was for?”

“I didn’t ask, no. Unlike some, I don’t make an art out of gossip.”

“You anvil-headed packmule. Let’s go, he might still be open.”

“Hey, what’s with the aggression?”

“Don’t you see? If that new sword is for someone at the Palace, we may as well pay him to let us do it!”

Queen Freydis may have been the biggest stroke of luck I’ve had my entire time in Skyrim. Once we found a new, simple purpose, everything else fell into place neatly. The legendary sword’s replica was commissioned for Jarl Ulfric himself, so I was quick to offer Oengul to fetch it for free, provided he would let us deliver it once the final product was ready.

Unsurprisingly, he agreed, and by the time we were back from Cragwallow Slope with the sword, we had ourselves a week’s free time until the sword’s replica was ready, and a good word put for us with Jorleif, the Palace’s own steward. Jorleif was too preoccupied with the serial killer to pay us much attention, but he also paid no mind to our accents when granting us the power to investigate them.

We didn’t do much investigating beyond breaking into the house of one of the victim’s. Marcurio decided upon stepping in that the place reeked of necromancy, and immediately went to ask the court mage about it. Who ever said College credentials are useless? He was more than happy than share the results of his own research – being the court mage in a city that despises magic must be a lonesome occupation – and handed us the chance to predict the next attack, saving the victim’s life and catching the killer in one clean swoop.

If it sounds unbelievably easy, it’s because it certainly felt like it: ten days of patient cultivation of every possible contact yielded abrupt results nearly overnight. 

On the evening of Morndas, 29th of Midyear we had a silent, tense supper, surrounded by muttered curses and suspicious stares. On Tirdas the 30th – my birthday, of all days – we broke our fasts toasted as heroes, defeaters of the dreaded Butcher, protectors of the people of Windhelm. That very same evening, we were welcomed into the Palace of Kings for supper, heads held high, to petition for peace.

* * *

The palace’s halls looked the way all of Windhelm was supposed to look during peacetime, which did not fully account for the contrast: the main table winced under the weight of the large amounts of unremarkably plain fare – nobody inside here was going hungry, but it was clear their idea of kingly luxury was quite more austere compared to that of Cyrodiil.

Our entrance had been carefully calculated by Marcurio’s skills at showmanship: we wore our finest fabrics, as the occasion demanded, in the harshest way possible. Marcurio wore scaled gauntlets under his velvet sleeves, to help the illusion that he actually knew how to use the Shield of Ysgramor that he carried two steps behind me. We kept our necks stiff and made the noise of our scaled boots appear an accident, and I kept my neck clear of any fur to better exhibit the amulet of Talos over the rich blue of my clothes.

The deep curtseys that would’ve been expected at Solitude were replaced by an agile bow, to show off my unusual height and the springs of my legs. Instead of fighting with my hair to copy the airy styles of noblewomen, my wiry curls were divided in hundreds of tiny braids, then brought upwards in a bun and held in place with a plain silver circlet – which made me appear half an inch taller, and let’s face it, made my pointy features look more like a defiance than a flaw. Surely we were outlanders, but we appropriated every local ideal we could: whichever side we chose in the war, eventually, I would side with Skyrim.

Nevertheless, Ulfric’s expression remained distant, but his housecarl’s clear efforts to appear distrustful showed we were landing close to the intended target.

After staring at me for a few seconds, he signalled his permission to sit and took the first sip of wine.

“We shared a cart once, didn’t we?”

He talked slowly, but dispassionately.

“I had not expected my Jarl to remember.”

“It wasn’t an experience easy to forget. Most people who face a dragon never live to tell it. Of course, if word on the street is true, you’ve faced several. Is that why the Thalmor wanted you dead?”

Attributing my death sentence to a common enemy could only be an olive branch. This was too easy. Where was the catch?

“I’m afraid not. It was my first time with a dragon, they couldn’t have known.” I tried to smile at the coy reference. “Either way, I did little else beyond crawling and running.” He passed over his goblet, and I took a sip.

“But you’re better now – again, if tales are true.”

“Tales probably exaggerate, but they’re based on the truth. I am the Dragonborn."

“That means that dragon was Alduin.” He seemed to have lowered his defences a bit, since he’d begun to look concerned.

I passed the goblet to Marcurio.

“I am glad that you remember Helgen, my jarl. It will save us time.”

“Very well, milady. It’s good that you don’t want to waste time on pleasantries. Clearly you’re not here to join my ranks, otherwise you would’ve looked for Galmar Stone-Fist a week ago and saved yourselves all the ceremony.”

I turned to Marcurio, who was already sending the goblet to its next recipient.

“We bring a message from the Greybeards.” Marcurio said.

“Of course. Ysmir, Dragon of the North, was to be summoned for guidance as soon as she revelead herself.” He gave an odd side smile. “I always knew it would turn out to be a woman, though I did not expect to see it in my lifetime.”

I knew _that_ was bullshit, but I had to tip my hat at the strategy.

“I do hope Arngeir pays whatever amount you wagered.” I said. He chuckled.

“About time they turned their gaze from the skies. What does Arngeir want?”

“Peace, of course.” I said, and we all chuckled.

“Temporary peace, for now. The Greybeards want to open negotiations for a ceasefire, until the dragon menace is dealt with.” Marcurio said. Ulfric kept chuckling while he returned the goblet to me.

“And you are… the Dragonborn’s steward? Housecarl? Bethrothed?”

There’s an accusation we did not expect. I sensed Marcurio’s hair rise all over his back – and this is supposed to be the quirky bookworm who never gets angry.

“He is my right hand and my closest ally. I do hope you have an equivalent person in your life.” I quickly intervened, sending the goblet towards Galmar this time.

“Apologies, milady. I could not resist to test your… diplomatic ability.” Sure you couldn’t, asshole. Just like you couldn’t help to offend a messenger for the sake of a childish joke.

He continued. “I have the highest respect for my former masters, but it’s clear politics are not their field. The situation is far from simple. I can’t afford to appear weak, not with many jarls still refusing to acknowledge me as their King.”

“I understand, my jarl. Weak leaders are not to be followed. But what’s the point of leading a mountain of ashes? Wouldn’t you agree that in order to liberate Skyrim” I tried my best not to twist my lips as I said that “we must first make sure Nirn is not devoured by Alduin?”

He recovered the goblet and stared at its contents, pensive. Food began to be passed around – pork, mutton, rich rabbit stews, braided bread.

“There is no venison at your table, my Jarl.” I pointed out.

“How dare you criticize the High King’s hospitality, you decadent…” Galmar’s chest puffed up in indignation.

“I am not criticising, sir. On the contrary, I am quite thankful for its absence. I have not been able to stand its scent either, ever since.”

Ulfric looked up from his goblet.

“What did Tullius reply to the Greybeards' gracious request?” He asked.

“I shall let you know as soon as we consult him.”

“So I was deemed the easiest one to swindle?”

“The easiest one to reason with, my Jarl. You have been educated by the Greybeards, you know the legends, you love the land. You know Alduin grows stronger every day. You know once this petty feud is over, every soul will count so Tamriel can be freed from the Thalmor.”

“Does this look like a petty feud to you? Have you no respect for Talos?”

“I have the highest respect for Talos, but I cannot preserve his legacy without your help, my Jarl.”

He placed the empty goblet on the table and stood up.

“Then I’ll be waiting for your message with a date for the summit, Dragonborn.” He said, rushedly for the first time, before being followed out by Galmar and three more men.

* * *

Despite Marcurio’s constant japes about it, I’m not a hopeless sneak – and thanks to his canny Muffle charm, nobody heard us enter Jorrvaskr two hours before dawn. The secret didn’t last long, of course, but it guaranteed a brief respite.

Nevertheless, both Vilkas and Aela’s were already _casually_ waiting for me right outside my bedroom door, looking less than pleased.

“Ah, look what’s been hiding in the Harbinger’s chambers. I feared a skeever infestation” Vilkas said, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

“Good morning to you too. I was hoping not to disturb your sleep.”

“Oh, spare us the court talk.” Aela interjected, harshly. “You took off to try out that Elder Scroll nearly three weeks ago, and then we didn’t get a single line from you.”

“I thought Companions were free to come and go as they pleased?”

“Not if they’re our Harbinger!” She hollered.

“Vilkas is acting Harbinger, remember?”

“Nevertheless, Sira – friends let each other know they haven’t been killed by dragons or swallowed up by Oblivion.” He responded, somewhat more coolly.

“Friends give each other a chance to explain themselves before cornering each other.” As much as I’d have preferred to walk out on their interrogation, Aela’s beastly expression made me think better of it. I sighed and brushed my hair away from my eyes to buy myself some time.

“Is Marcurio up yet? We have a lot to tell you, and it’s all rather delicate.”

“He was drying his face on the whelp room five minutes ago, after Torvar dumped some chilled water on him.” Aela said.

“Good. He’ll come, then. Meanwhile, please close the door. I know this is not our style, but this information is best kept for the Circle only.” Immediately, Vilkas’ legs sprung up towards the door. He hollered for Farkas and Athis, and closed the studio’s door behind him.

Clearly, I wasn’t walking away without spilling the full tale.

“We ran into Alduin at High Hrothgar. He came close enough to killing us, but we came even closer to killing him – don’t get too excited, he escaped. He’s gone into hiding.”

“How can such a huge dragon hide?” Aela asked, while Farkas entered. He nodded towards me quickly, and didn’t appear too mad.

_In bloody Sovengarde, apparently._ “I don’t know, he can fly places. Either way, Paarthurnax came up with a plan. We’re going to capture one of the members of _his_ Circle and have him tell us where, exactly.”

“You’re mad.”

“Indeed I am, but this is what we’re doing.”

“Where are you planning to keep this pet of yours? Our training yard?” Aela continued, still incredulous.

“Of course not. She’s using Dragonsreach, obviously. How are you going to convince Jarl Balgruuf of that?”

“There’s the Smart Twin we all know and love.” Marcurio appeared, Athis in tow, right behind us. How long had he been eavesdropping again?

“He said he’d let us have his palace if we can guarantee neither Stormcloaks nor Imperials will attack Whiterun in the meantime.”

“So he refused.” Added Athis.

“He did not. He just set impossible terms.” Vilkas rebutted.

“Not impossible if you haven’t tried.”

“Thank you, Farkas. So we had to sneak into Windhelm, and so far Jarl Ulfric says he’s game for a truce – if we can convince Tullius. His second in command was not so pleased about it and had us thrown from the city the second Ulfric turned around.”

“Are you going to Solitude now?”

“Ideally, but we can’t just ride there, swords unsheathed, and expect to be received.” Marcurio explained. “The fact that we’re from Cyrodiil made Windhelm a proper nightmare, but if anyone in Solitude knows we've been negotiating with Ulfric, we'll get tried for treason. There’s scouts from both sides randomly searching peddlers and couriers. I advised Sira to delay sending word.”

He hadn’t, we just sort of forgot until our notoriety in Windhelm grew a bit too much, but I was glad he was willing to take that blame. Only Aela continued to look hurt.

“We must do what we can to reinforce the message of the Companions being a neutral force, then.” Vilkas continued, matter-of-factly. “Are the peace talks to be held up in High Hrothgar? It’s neutral sacred ground, but you’ll be needing neutral agents to guarantee security as well.”

I hadn’t thought much of the possibility of Galmar knifing a Legate during the talks - or about _any_ of the logistics of the actual summit, for that matter. Clearly I don’t know what I’m doing.

“For a start. All those details have to wait until after I get the Legion’s agreement, though. In the meantime, let’s make sure Ria, Njada, and Vignar keep their political opinions to themselves.”

“Done deal. I’ll talk to them.” Aela said. 

“We also need to discreetly look into Whiterun’s defences. Should the talks end badly, it may spur either side to attempt a siege. Athis, you get along with the guards. Take Jerome for reconnaissance training, please. And there’s a famine to get ready for, as well.”

The twins looked up, anxiously. It was an ugly word – and they weren’t familiar enough with it.

“Half the harvest between here and Riften has been lost already to dragonfire or confiscated by the war effort. We’ve had plenty of chances to see it. We need to keep our food stores full, and draft something for the long term so they stay that way. We also need to convert as much as our gold to non-perishable goods as possible – steel ingots and fuel, mostly. Also, gems. They can give us the upper hand in case we need a bargaining tool that can be moved discreetly.”

They looked ridiculously confused at that idea.

“Already Carlotta has little flour to sell, but you want to hoard it?” Farkas asked. 

“If we don’t, someone else will. At least we know ourselves to be decent enough to share, if it gets that bad.” Disapproval continued to surround me. “Clearly most of you have never seen a proper famine. Should I remind you that I have?” 

Of course not, Sira. Like you ever tell anyone the truth about your life at the docks.

“The years following the Great War were harsh on Anvil. We trade most of our crops, and the sea routes were blockaded by the Dominion. Trust me, I know what it looks like when an entire town runs out of food.” I continued.

“You’ll have to excuse our incredulity. You always look too posh to have known proper hunger.” Marcurio said, trying to break the tension.

“I have no desire to know it.” Vilkas replied. “Can you work something out while at Solitude? Maybe deal directly with the East Empire Company? It would give you a proper alibi, too.”

“That’d be ideal, yes. I’d need full powers to act on your behalf, Vilkas. Anything should be clearly signed on your name, in case I do find Alduin and it gets… rough.” I replied.

“For Stendarr’s sake, Sira, don’t talk like that!” Farkas cut me off, covering his eyes with his right hand.

“I’m just trying to make sure…”

“Enough, you two! Can we work out the details after breakfast? Let’s just… give you time to get properly cleaned and dressed.” Athis said, opening my studio’s door. Everyone but Aela began walking out.

“Nice way to remind me that I’m wearing a filthy belted tunic and that I haven’t washed my hair in a week, right?” I told her, smirking.

“You’ve replaced me with a mage.” She said, not giving in to the joke.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Just set the date for Jerome’s Trial, so I can be off to Sky Haven Temple already. Please.”

“Please stay.”

“Until when? Until it’s all taken care of and we can go back to what it used to be, tracking deer all night along with Skjorr, behind Kodlak’s back? Skjorr is dead, Kodlak is dead, and you’re already making plans for your own death.”

“Oh, for Meridia’s sake, Aela, let’s not get melodramatic. This isn’t you. Are you that jealous of Marcus?”

“When did you started worshipping Daedra? This isn’t you either.” 

Ahh, crap. Athis will have my head for this.

"Oh, so only Hircine is allowed now? _Fine._ Then come with us to Solitude and remind me of who I am.” The tiniest glimpse of a smile became visible, at last. “I’ll need a proper entourage if I’m to be taken seriously by the legion, after all.”

Six months ago, her laughter at that would’ve shaken the walls. Instead, she smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder, but that was enough for now.


	35. Consolation Imagery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get an audience with General Tullius would require a new set of political tricks and sly public stunts... or, as Aela and Marcurio discover, it could just be a matter of having Sira lower her head enough to apologize to an old crush.

Neither would ever feel like home, but Solitude was always the day to Windhelm’s stormy nights. The Eastern Empire’s Trading Company warehouses, moreover, were so close to the nice side of Anvil’s wharfs that I could almost pretend I had never left home – I was simply reborn as a rich trader.

Talk about believing your own lies.

Either way, the second after I arranged for our rooms at the Winking Skeever, I ran to the wharfs, while Aela stayed behind to visit the Fletcher.

“She’s a cheery one, isn’t she?” Marcurio asked, as he tried to locate a Bosmer captain we’d been recommended.

“She wasn’t always like this.”

“I thought she had it in for me, at first. So was there a specific purpose for bringing her along, or just to upset Vilkas?”

“I couldn’t just miss her company?”

“Sure, if I didn’t know you have a tendency to keep hidden motives around.”

I deserved that mistrust, I knew.

“She grieves. I want to help her. I thought she could use a change of scenery.”

“Fair enough. So she’s the one whose lover got murdered by bandits?” Talking about Skjorr and Kodlak had been too hard to do without mentioning the beast blood, so I’d always kept details vague.

“Right. She’s always been a bit of a loner, but… she’s no milkdrinker, allright?”

“I'd never say she was. I’ve seen these states of… prolonged mourning before. It’s always the brave, tough ones that get it the worse… the Legion heroes who came home from the war and just lost their flame, in a way. A priest once told me that some people are just called to the plane of the dead ahead of time – and some do try to take themselves there. There was one old mage at the Arcane University who was convinced he could develop a potion to cure it.”

“He didn’t, I take it.”

“Nope, but I’ve seen a couple of people recover.”

“What do I do, then?”

“Make sure she keeps something to pull her back towards the living? Tickle her until she laughs so hard that she pisses herself and remembers what it feels like?” He stared rather sadly at me. “It’s the one thing I won't pretend to be an expert on.”

It dawned on me that he knew _prolonged mourning_ first hand.

“Well, if you ever want to… discuss what works and doesn’t, I’m all ears. You think the tiny one in the rabbit-skin hat is our man?” I said, pointing at a candidate.

“Yes, he looks like someone who just closed a nice deal. I’m not so sure about this scheme of yours, by the way – buying a harvest that doesn’t exist yet. This could cause a famine.”

“It’s a gamble, certainly. Which is why I’m using my own money for it, and not the one Vilkas gave me. We may have to eat less beef for a while, at most.” I replied, handing him over the piece of paper with my calculations.

“Of course, if this works out nicely, you’ll own Proudspire Manor and have garnets glued to every lock, next year. I want in – but only a little bit.”

“Milkdrinker.”

“Sleaze”. He jested.

“I must admire the absolute honesty you keep with each other.” Aela’s voice came from behind us. “Do you need me to stick his head in brine, my Harbinger?”

“That would be a waste of olives, my dear. How fares the Fletcher?”

“Quite richer than this morning, and quite full of interesting information, too. It might be easier to get Tullius’ ear than expected.”

“Oh, do share. The lesser hinges to oil, the better.” Marcurio said.

“Just one, big, bulky hinge.” She winked, and for a second my friend was back. This could spell trouble.

“Apparently, General Tullius’ personal guard, which is always assigned on a yearly basis, is not due to change until the end of Sun’s Height… meaning our dear Harbinger knows someone with two weeks of service left there.”

“No, I don’t.” I immediately said.

“Oh, have some priorities, Sira!” she cried out, amusedly.

“What am I missing here?” Marcurio asked. "Ooooh! 'A strong soldier in Solitude, probably no longer waiting for a letter!' And you knew this!” 

Ahh, crap, no way out.

“I really did assume he would’ve been assigned somewhere else by now.”

“LIES!” the both said, in unison. I’m not liking this alliance.

“Marcurio, you do something about her hair, I’ll secure our rooms. She is not allowed to disappear tonight.” Aela said, excited to be the one giving the orders for once.

“Get a hot tub ready. I intend to rub some scented soap on her until her neck is pink.”

“I’ll shout you two to pieces.” I said.

“Admit it, you’re excited. So is this the blacksmith’s nephew? Dear old farmboy?”

I groaned in frustration, but they were too excited to care. At least they were getting along.

* * *

Hair tightly plaid and nose hidden under a novice hood, I was hard enough to recognise after dusk. I’d been waiting by the barracks’ gates since the last change of guard, and the bustle of incoming green boys and hollering captains made me fear I’d missed Hadvar.

After all, once they’ve been all dressed in the same uniforms and trained to walk similarly, all men were hard to tell apart. It’d been at least an hour since the latest rush had passed. 

Maybe I should come back tomorrow?

There was always the possibility that he had been assigned somewhere else, mid-commission. It wasn’t unheard of. Hopefully, he’d been sent somewhere relatively safe. Maybe he got assigned to the frontlines in some skirmish and had died a hero’s death.

No, Sira, of course he didn’t. He’d made Tullius personal guard, of course they wouldn’t waste him in the frontlines.

The night was not very dark, but getting chilly. Skyrim summer my arse. Odd stares surrounded me… what’s a lone woman doing waiting by the barracks? The Legion is not exactly known for being welcoming to women, and even in Skyrim, you could see maybe one female auxiliary for every six or eight males. It made the ogling insolent, to say the least.

I’m the bloody Dragonborn, wankers. Show some respect! And they say Stormcloaks are the unpolished brutes.

“Two wagons full of potatoes burnt to a crisp in a second, that’s all Legate Taurinus could think about. At least the men we had guarding them escaped. The Morthal garrison will have to bake something else for a week or two.”

A group of three soldiers approached the gates: two of them clearly Nords, the one speaking sounded like he was from somewhere in the West Weald.

“Eh, I heard Arnvir saw one of his boots melt.”

“Great, do you think he’ll need help from us buying a new set?” That voice and such kindness could only be Hadvar’s. I shook myself up almost instantly and strode towards the trio.

“Mara be blessed, I was beginning to fear you wouldn’t be here.” I muttered as soon as I reached them. I lifted my right hand to remove my hood, but he immediately took it between his and stopped me.

His friends looked startled at first, but it only took West Weald five seconds to let go of a badly-repressed chuckle.

Hadvar looked down for a second before starting laughing.

“Not here to take your oath, I guess?” He asked.

“Sorry, not this time.”

“Dion, Skald, why don’t you go ahead?”

I barely registered their (probably snarky) reply, as he took my arm and began leading me away.

He hadn’t yelled at me or thrown me out, at least, which was an improvement over our last meeting. Nevertheless, it was a tense and silent walk towards Castle Dour’s main gate. He let go of my arm as soon as we reached the still-crowded main street.

I wouldn’t have minded some yelling, at this point. Gods, why must this man be so collected?

“It’s good to see you, Sira.” He said, at last, with a hint of a step forward.

“You look well. In one piece.”

“I look like shit. It’s been a hard day. You look nice, though, regular clothes suit you.”

“Thanks. I left my shiny things at the Inn.”

“It’s fine. You don’t need them anyway. The Companions treating you well, I hope?”

Is this the level of small talk we were doomed to? Clearly I was going to have to be the one to take the plunge into personal territory - audience with Tullius be damned.

“Always. Better than I’m treating them, at least.” Awkward pause followed. “The hardships of leadership eventually caught up with me, I guess.”

“So what brings you to the big city?”

“Officially, a big grain purchase. Whiterun is preparing for poor harvest. Have you been up to anything interesting?”

“Nope. I’ve got just three weeks left in the General’s personal guard, and he just doesn’t leave the city much. Not since Helgen.”

“So you’re staying safe. I’m glad to hear that.”

“Yes, I only have to hear about the fire, blood, and famine everywhere, but I get to keep my own hide intact.” He snapped, abruptly on the defensive.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean... I’m just glad to see you.”

“Right. I suppose I should get back now...”

Oh, fuck. Take the plunge already, Sira, you’re not 15 anymore.

“Have dinner with me. Please.” I blurted out. “I owe you a pleasant evening, I think.”

“No, you don’t.” He grabbed my hand. “Fredas is clam chowder night at the Skeever, though, if you’re interested.”

“Sure.”

“One condition.”

“Oh?”

“How old are you really, _Dragonborn_?”

“I turned 28 last week, _captain_.”

He chuckled.

“What else was a lie?”

_Everything._

“Nothing.”

“Then why lie about that of all things?”

“I don’t know... I thought you were handsome and didn’t want you to think me a spinster? I wasn’t Dragonborn back then. Just a silly girl who got into a bigger adventure that she could handle.”

“You Imperials are all mad. If there’s something I’ve learned this year... Nevermind, let’s get food.”

* * *

Nord mead and hot broths always make for a pleasant atmosphere. Hadvar did not hate me, and after a couple of mouthfuls, most of the awkwardness had washed away and we were chatting quite merrily - almost like two adults with nothing to resent.

Almost.

I could smell his fear as he took a big gulp of ale (clearly for courage) and finally took my hand. Is he still scared of me?

“I’m sorry I was such an idiot last time. I had no right to get so upset over... Anything, really. It took me a while to realise why I was so angry to see you.”

Ah, so we’re finally acknowledging that big hairy mammoth in the back of the room.

“Because I mocked you and then didn’t keep my promise.”

“Yes, but I deserved to be mocked.” His thumb carefully began brushing against the palm of my hand, as if asking for permission. “I’d just seen the war get real, you know? I mean training is one thing, small skirmishes are a fun anecdote, but real battles... Killing men and women just like me, but who wear different colours. When I got posted here, I was so relieved... Then Oblivion burned in front of me, my childhood best friend tried to kill me and I let him roast to death. I needed a safe haven, but one that I could protect myself, you know? A tiny garden, untouched by the war, that smelled of pine trees and milk thistle.”

“So you decided to turn me into that garden.” I cut off, remembering how much he’d annoyed me the night of the dragon attack.

“And forgot to ask for your permission.”

“And made me feel underestimated in the process - so instead, I burned the pine trees. And I had done everything I could to fuel that fantasy of yours. I felt helpless and abandoned and had just seen Oblivion unfold too, so... We both took whatever shelter we could get.”

“My uncle would’ve sheltered you anyway, you know that.”

“There’s more to shelter than food and a roof. Also, freeloading’s not my style”

He chuckled.

“Aye. So you didn’t mean to make yourself younger and weaker, and I didn’t mean to want to keep you that way. Still didn’t give me the right to...”

“Accuse me of shagging Jarl Siddgeir over a couple of pretty necklaces? Not really. I thought you better than that.” 

No, I promised Aela I would not try to reopen these old wounds! And yet, they stung.

I mean, I did shag Siddgeir, but it wasn’t just about a necklace.

“I shouldn’t have done that. Resentment got the better of me, and I chose to act like a kid about it. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. You’re not the first man ever to resent a jarl. They do hold all the power, after all.” I was more than ready to move the conversation onto happier territory, all his guilt established, and reached for the pitcher to offer him more ale.

He caught it faster, and began filling up my tankard instead.

“Screw the Jarl, my sweet Sira. It was you I resented.”

I stared at him blankly. He continued.

“While I was stuck here serving as a glorified bodyguard, mulling over the little garden that I could not protect, you went off to join the Companions, built a small fortune out of nowhere and became a bloody legend. I endured months of bad news, unable to lift a finger about all the disastrous reports I overheard, while the bards wrote songs of the fair and strong Dovahkiin. It was quite clear you were above my protection, and it stung.”

That intense, unapologetic frankness of his should be enough to want me keep him － or kill him.

“You’ve given this an awful amount of thought.” I said, more to myself.

“You could say the problem was that I’ve had too much time to think of it.”

“Well, that time’s almost over now. You said you only have a fortnight left here?”

“19 days, to be exact. And then, once more into danger.”

Everything, from the tips of his bushy eyebrows to the calloused hands grabbing his goblet, screamed dread and defeat. The man who is about to die is giving his farewells, Sira.

“Sometimes, I think... Nay, I imagine” he continued, as he dipped a piece of bread into the last spoonfuls of broth - which he seemed to be savouring with the intensity that only a dying man could, “That both the General and Jarl Ulfric will at last come around, and we’ll call a truce with the Stormcloaks, join forces for just a little while, and take care of some of these dragons.”

He was probably trying to be funny, but bitterness still dripped from his tone. I should not have laughed so loudly, but that was the most beautiful thing he’d said all night, amidst all his apologies.

Why, my stubborn soldier, couldn’t you say that two hours ago? It would’ve saved me a very expensive dinner tab and the macabre mood that had overtaken our dinner.

“What if I told you that you can help me accomplish just that?”

He winced a bit, almost involuntarily, and looked up - but his hand kept holding mine.

“Oh, Sira, what are you plotting this time?”

“Just an audience with General Tullius.”

“I knew you couldn’t just be here to buy grain for Whiterun.”

“I never said I was. I said officially I was here to arrange that, but I’d hoped you’d spent enough time by Tullius’ side to get that.”

I rushed another sip, mostly to keep myself from blabbing too much.

“Fair enough. You think I can just get you a meeting with him and you’ll charm him into ending the war?”

“Do you not think me sweet enough for that?” I tried to joke coyly, but his expression made it clear it was not working. “Well, me neither. We’ll be happy enough with a truce, really.”

“We? As in you, the Companions, and whoever it was that put you to pester the Thalmor?”

“No, as in me and the Greybeards. I just need Tullius to agree to come to a summit in High Hrothgar, and then... Ideally, we’ll all put down our weapons there, at least until Alduin’s blasted into pieces.”

“That would be amazing, but I doubt someone as bloodthirsty as Ulfric Stormcloak would even consider it. If you must try...”

“He already said yes.”

He blinked, evidently shocked. Stop underestimating me already, dying boy.

“So are you about to allow Tullius to discredit himself as the unreasonable one?” I continued.

“I’ll get you the audience. I’ll do anything I can to help you, of course.”

Soup bowls empty and bread tray taken away, there’s nothing left holding our evening other than our fingers, which refuse to let go.

“There’s still a bit of wine left.” I said, after clearing my throat. “It seems like I can’t give you any tomorrow beyond that.”

He gulped it down in one long chug - it had been more a third of the bottle, really.

“Divines, Sira. What do I have to offer so you’ll let me wait for tomorrow upstairs?”

Ah, is it always going to take us this long?

“Ask, you thick Nord.” I turned around, looking for Aela’s smirk or Marcurio’s indiscreet ears hiding behind a column. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Once it was just us and a bed, there was little need left to overpower each other. Instead, we slowly acknowledged the past eleven months and their effects on each other. I clung to the angles of Hadvar’s body that had gone slightly soft due to idleness and studied the tiny creases around his eyes caused by worry - I didn’t mention them or paid them any special homage, I just took them as part of the package. He was still trained to kill and raised to bend steel, but he would only respond to honest affection with tenderness.

As he took me, he kissed every new bit of scarred skin I’d acquired, but only after slowly caressing the surrounding muscle. The Dragonborn could not be kept safe, not with a dozen dragon souls insisting on burning the pine saplings before they had a chance to take root, but he was eager to keep cherishing Sira.

There was no urgency as we moved from the fully-clothed doors of my room to the bare-skinned center of our bed. There was plenty of hunger but no thirst in our kisses, and to be perfectly honest, there was little raw strength before reaching climax.

It was not a bad thing: we simply sort of melted into each other. Each time, I was left unable to speak, trying to steady my breathing as silently as possible, unwilling to acknowledge the passing of time in any way. I saw him smile as he fell asleep right in front of me, and I did my best to stay awake for as long as I could - it felt like a waste of time, to use our last hours together fighting the jittery naps that the beast blood would allow.

The beast eventually allowed me a short respite, but I woke to a soft, sad aversion to mortality.


	36. Gallantry was always meant to keep you down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After convincing Jarl Ulfric that not all Imperials are delicate and overindulgent snobs, Sira now needs to prove to the Imperial upper echelons that the Nordic values of freedom and equality are more than simple quirks of a rustic people.

Small, sweet notes and half-squished sweet rolls are not what you’d call ladylike behaviour, and they drove Marcurio crazy. Still, he was forced to keep small trinkets at hand for the street urchins and stable boys who would deliver them - they were all about coordinating the exact date and time of our audience with General Tullius. Well, mostly about that, but occasionally they included a small reminder of how lovely I am.

“At least try not to squeal when you get a new one. No general will respect a Dragonborn who insists on acting like a giggling storegirl.”

“Would a backyard bully fall into higher consideration? I’ll drag you outside, whip your arse, and revel in the compliments.”

“You suppose you can drag me outside, Sira.” He replied, marking the elongated “o”s and final “a” of my name, the way it was done back home. “You’ve been in Skyrim for too long. Try not to make it look like your tutors were a bad investment on your grandfather’s behalf.”

If, after all the time we’d spent together, Marcurio still believed those tutors had been real, he deserved the beating.

“I fear that once I'm done with you, the healers may turn out to be a bit of a complete waste of gold, sir.”

“Right, so are we kicking the mage’s ass, right?” Aela said, exasperated. Her patience was running short already with the amount of work required to try to tame my hair, which was quite frankly inconsiderate - I was the one having to endure hot stones tied to my scalp for hours. It felt like a stupid way to erase my legacy (or lack of it) - and yet I knew it would be required, if I wanted to look fit for an audience with The Man of The Empire.

“We will, but not for another two days. We are to meet the General and two Legates tomorrow, an hour past elevensies.” I said, reading the oddly cold note I’d just received.

“What on Oblivion are elevensies?” she asked.

“A fake meal meant to show off your ability to tell apart different types of hot drinks.” I said.

“Great. This means you’ll most likely be expected to lunch with them. This is a good sign.” Marcurio seemed to have forgiven me for the lack of romance in his life. 

I did my best to copy his optimism, despite feeling like a child about to be caught stealing nut treats. My upper class accent may be realistic enough, but full meal etiquette?

Come on, Sira, you can do this. Better to start rehearsing my languid look already.

* * *

Cornered scammer or not, it was hard not to stand back at my sight as I entered Castle Dour, flanked by the Companion’s hall mage (a position that should’ve been invented a long time ago, really) and a member of their deadly Circle. I’d spent the past day on a crash course on every possible way to exude power and wit. The Legion is lucky to have the opportunity to get along with the legendary Ysmir, Marcurio reminded me, squeezing my hand discreetly right before being led in their war room.

I was not infiltrating, lying, sneaking my way into forbidden territory anymore. I am here on my own right, thanks to my own deeds, wearing the finery I’d paid for myself. 

Of course, that meant the stench of the docks was ready to escape from beneath my silk gown any second.

General Tullius was a gallant man, to be sure - and he seemed willing to go the extra mile once the Helgen confusion was alluded to. He promised to make sure those involved would be properly disciplined - an empty promise, I knew, as the captain who had given the orders had been ripped to pieces in front of my own eyes.

Chivalrous compliments and polished manners are not the same as respect, though, and they make for a poor substitute. It was clear Legate Caesennius had trouble picturing a woman as a legitimate warrior or Guild Leader. Both him and Tullius wasted half an hour of our time, at least, claiming to miss talking to the beautiful roses from their home province, with the former enphatically declaring himself enraptured by my stature and the depth of Nordic myths.

As exotic a meal companion I seemed to him, it made him quite uninterested in what I actually had to say. Meanwhile, Legate Rikke, ever the strong-headed Nord woman, seemed to get a free pass from any expectation of lightfootedness or grace. Clearly, being a Nord had opened doors for her a bit, but she must have also fought fiercely for every inch of influence she’d earned.

Her words were scarce and blunt, and she seemed to eye me suspiciously - was she waiting to see how I would demand my own share of respect? She didn't seem too keen on letting me borrow some of her voice. Fine, let’s face it, I wouldn’t have either. An hour had been lost already in rituals and pleasantries by the time Marcurio took over the conversation. Almost immediately, the idea of a truce was not so ridiculous. This was the wake up call I needed: a sliver of influence had been opened, but I’d have to kick the gates open myself.

“I’m afraid, old sport, that the dragons are not my primary objective in Skyrim, and they hinder Ulfric’s operations as much as mine. The Empire’s efforts must be focused on numbers, not legendary beasts.”

Why must the boys from the old City insist on only addressing each other?

“And yet, they do hinder your operations.” I spoke up. “They even the field, at best, a field that should be amply in your favour. My General, you hold the richest, most bountiful Holds. You wish for numbers? Coin by coin and horse by horse, you are the biggest loser here. And just two weeks of truce would hold you the biggest earnings as well - you can use that time to call on resources that the other side cannot.”

“That is not quite the declaration of neutrality I was told to expect from you, milady Dovahkiin.” said the General.

“Neutrality is lofty ideal for any figure, but this one has been designated to defend the interests of Skyrim and its people. Unfortunately, the people of Skyrim are far from neutral right now, and ready to sway to the side that protects them the most.”

“And we are protecting them from the Aldmerii Dominion! Of course, it’d be much easier to do so if we didn’t have to waste time and resources with these rebels and their quaint superstitions.”

“A superstition that just turned the Morthal garrison into smoke is far from quaint!” Defended Rikke, at last.

“The Aldmerii Dominion is ten times the enemy that the Stormcloak jarl will ever be, you don’t need to convince me of that.” I carefully inflicted just the tiniest tangible bit of disdain on Ulfric’s title. “But you also ought to convince the Nords of that, and I’m sorry to be so blunt, you’re not doing a good job there. The Empire was made great by recognising that not everything was conquered on the battlefield.”

“And you think a cease of hostilities will make the people love us more than they love Ulfric, how exactly?” said Legate Caesennius.

“As the neutral envoy and leader of a neutral Guild, it is not for me to advise high-ranking Imperial officers." I huffed, and then immediately softened my smile. "As a child of Anvil, however, I think I’m allowed to call on fond memories, such as those of endless lines of Legion soldiers coming home not to silly parades, but to organise the reconstruction of the city. A Gold Coast child that sees soldiers from the Capital, Daggerfall, and Bruma, all united under the same uniform, helping rebuild the storefront that will allow him to eat during the coming months - well, that child may never be truly neutral. How could he not recognize the Emperor as the benevolent father who shelters all his citizens?”

General Tullius smirked.

“Yes, I think that would be a lovely scenario to play out, if we were to get at least a month’s worth of peace.”

“The truce may last as much as the Generals and Jarls are willing to make it last. Plus an extra week if everyone agrees to pay due respect to the people in between and their ancient traditions.”

I casually let my empty goblet extend itself in Caesennius direction - giving him no choice but to refill it. Legate Rikke rolled her eyes.

“I’d be happy just to hear them called traditions rather than folklore more often.”

“I’m sure that can also be arranged. This is good Eidar cheese, by the way - is it not the perfect pairing for one of the Surilie brothers’ deep reds?”

Not exactly one of Master Gilbards’ celebrated superior pairings, and it made Marcurio frown slightly. The rest of them seemed to catch my gist, though. There was little but pleasantries during the last hour of our meeting, until the General excused himself and all other officers and staff disappeared - with the exception of Legate Rikke.

I rose to say goodbye and found her to have a pleasantly firm handshake.

“Your tactics are strange, Harbinger.”

“And you don’t like them.” No need to beat around the bush with her, clearly.

“I would never recommend them, but they work.”

“If I’d enjoyed the same freedoms you did growing up, I wouldn’t bother with them. Of course, I would also not admire _your_ tactics half as much as I do.”

“And yet, you are what you are." She said, too impassively behind her icy blue eyes. I repressed a shiver. What on Nirn does she think I am?

"I play my part to the best of my talents." I finally replied, meeting her gaze.

"I’ll see you at the High Hrothgar summit, then.”

“You will. Talos guide you, Legate” I said, with a small curtsey.

“Talos protect you, Dragonborn.” She replied, nodding.

* * *

Saying goodbye to Hadvar left a lot more things unsaid. I only got to steal him for 10 minutes besides Radiant Raiment, most of which were spent hugging.

The man smelled of beaten hopes. He was glad the meeting was a success, but it was not enough to hide his disappointment at seeing me return home to Jorrvaskr. He knew that I had quietly picked his side on the conflict, but also that it meant little. The World Eater came first.

“Thanks for all your help with the meeting. You’re an invaluable friend.”

Surprisingly, he didn't even flinch at my choice of words. “Thank you for letting me be a part of it. You think ballads will mention me as one of your little helpers?”

“I already have a mage bribing the Bard’s College to make sure all songs include him" I said, pointing at Marcurio."They might be open to a bundle deal.”

“Also, the full use of my leg. That always needs to be included.”

He moved his hands a bit lower, wrapping them around my waist.

“Too hard to rhyme, I'm afraid. I hope you’re not expecting a goodbye kiss now, Hadvar.” I said, with abrupt feigned coldness.

“I’m not getting one, it seems.”

I was so busy trying to maintain the last inch of distance left between our faces that I forgot he thought he would be the one to die.

“Of course you’re not. We’ll meet again.”


	37. The serpent's nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High Hrothgar, ancient and sacred place that it is, was never meant to hold court. The Summit of High Hrothgar were supposed to be peace talks, but they quickly turn into the scenario of another, dirtier, type of war.

Ass-kissing, side allusions, and backhanded compliments are no longer my most precious talents, and no sane bard would ever sing of them – but as the High Hrothgar summit proved, they will always remain a legitimate way to achieve something.

History books will record the names of those of us who signed the final agreement – three jarls, two of them fancying themselves High Kings, a military governor, two generals of their faction’s highest ranks, three scholars, a folk hero. I’m sure plenty of books will keep embellished records of the heartfelt speeches we all threw around at some point, convinced that what we were about to say was the ultimate voice of reason and the only course of action.

The leaders maturely set their differences aside, sat a round table, and after an afternoon of gallant compromises, reached an agreement that benefitted everyone equally. At least, that’s what I was expecting based on the history books Vilkas and Athis had selected for me. We were still two hours away from the stone monastery when it became clear that’s not how peace summits work.

The wide esplanade before the building, as well as plenty of the narrower stone paths leading up to it and the smaller clears before ancient shrines were overtaken by an impromptu city of tents, housing both faction’s envoys, their assistants and servants, the soldiers and bodyguards to protect them, horses, and supply carts. Inside the monastery itself, as sacred ground that it was, all weapons were forbidden and spilling any blood would be considered sacrilegious, but the same protection was not extended to the entire 7,000 steps.

A few days spent sending couriers back and forth had widened that protection to one thousand yards before the monastery’s main gate, but that agreement would mean little at the slightest incident between people trying to reach the designated safe area. One thousand yards before that limit, the sea of black and red banners ended scarcely six feet from where its blue equivalent started. The Companions were in charge of patrolling that narrow lane, allowing no one to wield any weapon, confiscating random objects that could be used as one, and breaking up any potential competition over horse fodder.

Both me and the twins were trying really hard not to give in to the beastblood, as our wolves were going mad with the scent of hatred. Fortunately, Ivarstead had always kept its own city guard, independent from that of both Whiterun and Riften, so they could be moderately trusted to keep the peace in town – nonetheless, Aela insisted to keep two stable boys at hand, ready to send the word for everyone there to board up their homes and stay inside.

What a delightful prospect.

Better than Athis suggestion to simply let the entire war play out right there, where at least they couldn’t damage the rest of the country. It certainly seemed easier than trying to juggle Arngeir’s constant additional requests about how to treat the place - really, if you want everyone to take their shoes off before going any further than the main hall, that’s midly reasonable, but you go tell Galmar Stone-Fist that his rich horker stews are problematic. I’m quite hungry as well.

The small chamber I had been assigned had little more than a tiny stone bed and a washing basin, so there was little room to hide all the rich pastries, gems, and luxurious silks I was being gifted by the dozen, by both sides. I dared not reject them, but it felt too risky to eat any of the edible gifts or flaunt any of the others. Stewards and senechals I had never spoken to were too eager to fake familiarity with me, undoubtedly thinking it would at least piss off the other side. The Blades had basically pushed their way into the summit - yes, I had technically sent a courier inviting them, but I was hoping their status as outlaws would keep them well away from High Hrothgar. I certainly was not expecting Arngeir to try to have them thrown out so rudely - I felt forced to plead their case, if only because I knew they’d be arrested on the way out.

Delphine, of course, thanked me by being as undiplomatic as possible, sneering at the presence of any of the Imperial emissaries, and threatening to slap a Stormcloak helper who, let’s face it, should not have stared at her chest in such brazen a manner. She proved to be invaluable in that way, as her constant quarrelling helped defuse situations that would otherwise ended in one gigantic brawl.

Marcurio, who clearly never told me the whole story of his liaison with that redhead from the Thieves Guild, was adding to the intrigue by eavesdropping wherever he could. Farkas was appalled at his dishonorable behaviour, unable to recognize all the ways in which his intel was saving my life. Vilkas could see it, of course, which is why he refrained from censoring him openly and simply sneered at our constant whispering. Just like the old days.

Athis and Njada, more pragmatic and familiarised with the evil ways of the world, were keen on never leaving my side whenever Ulfric would make one of his theatrical appearances down the halls - he was too eager to show off his in-depth knowledge of the monastery and to pay outrageous compliments to my strength and figure whenever possible, and not only in front of the Imperial delegates. He seemed a bit too eager to secure extra benefits for the post-Alduin war. Well, so nice of him to believe in me, I guess.

I would not have been as bothered by it (what’s another silver fox to entertain for one evening?) if I hadn’t already eavesdropped on Rikke, adamantly urging General Tullius to be careful of me, as I was bound to fall for _Ulfric’s charms_ soon enough, and was sure to do anything in my power to impress him back.

_Listen, just because you did..._

Jarl Balgruuf, one of the few people there who had spent more than three hours in my company, bravely stomped his goblet on the table in protest. Warmness spread across my chest at that gesture for a few seconds, before remembering that he wasn’t supposed to be having drinks with Tullius in the first place - it’s his city’s safety we’re negotiating. He could do a better job at feigning neutrality, for Juliano’s sake! Does he not realise that Ulfric’s steward has put his 14-year-old cousin to keep tabs on him? Jorleif was earning his own bitchslap, after this summit is over. He probably fancies himself discreet and coy, thinking nobody would notice the unnatural amount of pages and squires around who share his jaw.

A true Nord through and through, that one, quick to gruff silences, manly displays of offended honor, and the subtetly of a pickaxe. That little act of pretending not to know Erikur, Solitude’s most important weapons merchant, was poorly executed. Explain then how all that spiced wine got to your goblet? Clearly, his seeming unawareness of the weird dynamics between some of Windhelm’s most notable traders with a couple of key Imperial Legates was not feigned - he was just not smart enough to notice either.

Really, I should listen to Athis and just let them all burn. Or at the very least, institute a courier tax for the ridiculous amount of messages that were passed around the evening before the main round of talks was scheduled to start.

* * *

“You should sleep.” Aela whispered behind me, as I sat on the back courtyard, pretending not to freeze.

“So should you, if tonight’s rounds are over.”

“They are, just passed the torch and the whistle over to Ria. I’m not even going to try to sleep, though, not the way the monasteries’ veins pulse with expectation tonight.”

She’d managed to take her beastly, enhanced senses to a whole new level. It was reassuring to have her protect me.

“I’d not have described it so eloquently, but I’m not sleeping either.”

“You should. You need your eloquence in top shape tomorrow, and you can’t afford to look like anyone kept you up last night. It’d ruin everything.”

“Shit, gossip travels fast.”

“Again, why are you surprised? I’m serious, though. It’s best if you’re not seen wandering any halls late at night.”

“And with the amount of errand boys around, someone would definitely see me.” I stared down the mountain, watching the campfires and anxious roars down the steps. “Tomorrow at this hour, I could be responsible for the biggest slaughter in Skyrim history, and on sacred grounds.”

“You won’t. Boys are all about puffed chests, even the powerful ones. Especially the powerful ones. You just... Keep doing what you’ve been doing. Beats me why, but somehow it’s earned you respect from both sides.”

She slid next to me, and began flexing her arms as if aiming an imaginary bow towards the camps.

“Skjorr would’ve had a blast taunting these idiots tonight.” She said, somewhat disturbingly.

“You’re not thinking...”

“And give Vilkas an excuse to scold you in front of the most important people in the province like you’re an unruly child? Tempting, but I would never.”

“The restraint’s appreciated. He’s been awful enough, surrounded by all the politickeering that’s clearly beneath him.”

“He’s out of his element, and it upsets him. Pay him no mind. It’s not his voice everyone has gathered to hear, anyway. You need to have a back up plan in case the Imperial Legates try to talk over all the women again.”

“That’s taken care of. The protocolar lists are ready, and Rikke is listed above all except Tullius. Unless she comes down with a sudden bout of diarrhea, Caesennius should not even approach the main table.”

“If she does develop an abrupt contagious disease, where should fingers point?”

“Marcurio’s in charge of a very complicated system of taste-testers already. If it does happen, though, I’d make a big fuss about Galmar proving his honor some non-bloody way, and quietly make sure Erikur’s creepy mage doesn’t leave the building.”

She smirked. “Well, look at you, uncomfortable with politics and intrigue. Imagine if you were a natural at it.”

“I’m a daughter of Anvil, my dear huntress. I can’t help but being deliciously charming and hiding poison in my locket.” I chuckled.

“Well, there goes all the contingency plans, Sira. I’m giving you 10 more minutes of moping around staring at the moons before you’re back on your chambers.”

“Fiiine.” I tried my best to keep myself from violently shivering for ten more minutes, but I didn’t even reach seven. Maddening roars and shouts began coming from the camps.

“What in Oblivion is happening? Are those... Flags approaching?” I asked Aela, who was already up, trying to gain a better view.

“I’m not sure - they’re small, in any case, but there’s definitely a small delegation approaching.“ She squinted, then abruptly jumped down and put out her torch. “Hircine be cursed, it’s an Aldmeri banner! The Thalmor are requesting entrance! Quick, you must go to your chambers before all hell breaks loose.”

“What? I’m not hiding from anyone, not here!”

“You’re not hiding, you’re just pretending you haven’t seen this! I’ll fetch the talking monk. You... you have seen nothing, know nothing, you've been meditating or some other bullshit like that.”

“Promise me you won’t let Ulfric ditch the summit without giving me a chance to do something.”

“What would you do, anyway? Now go!”

* * *

It was a hard task, to pretend to sleep when the stone walls around me vibrated with the anger coming from the camps. At least, the noise seemed confined to shouting and verbal insults - no steel clinking so far, indicating that somehow, Vilkas and the rest had managed to keep a real battle from breaking out.

Sounds were muffled, of course, but it didn’t take a genius to guess whose loud steps were on the other side of the door, whose were the exasperated shrills, or the reason for all the slammed doors. The Thalmor’s appearance was not welcomed by anyone, but the Legion was forced to pretend to welcome their allies - which was further salt on the Stormcloaks’ wounds.

I lied on my stone bed for hours, trying to imagine faces and dispositions, scared of moving and revealing I was awake, just waiting for dawn. I had managed to sneak only a small glass dagger with me (ceremonially, I had been subjected to the same patdown that everyone else had), which I’d been keeping under my blanket, half-afraid and half-hopeful someone was about to barge into my room to ask me to intervene.

After a couple of hours, the unmistakable sound of iron gates being barred shut gave way to more shouting and harsh steps close to my door, and then into tense silence. After that, all I could do was wait and think - had they allowed the Thalmor inside? Was I going to be expected to throw them out come morning? Or would I have to offer a gracious apology for being made to camp outside? How would Ria and Farkas keep them alive throughout the night, with 3 thousand rebels calling for their execution and 3 thousand soldiers unwilling to secure their safety?

What is a petty scammer from Anvil’s Harbourside doing, playing at politics with the big fish? I was doing fine, collecting the spoils of feigned affection from bored merchants. Who told me to come to Skyrim and try to dance with the debutantes? They would all see what I’m really made of in a few hours. It would be too easy for the likes of Tullius and Caesennius to recognise what a tavern wench’s daughter is worth, and the true sons of Skyrim would never forgive the insult to their traditions at my daring to be their Dovahkiin.

“But you are the Dragonborn. You are intimidating” rang the memory of a friend’s voice in my ears, just 20 minutes before a soft knock on my door.

* * *

I stepped into High Hrothgar’s dining hall closely followed by Marcurio. Chatter immediately died down, and I gave each jarl two seconds of my smile while I crossed the room. After moving my chair for me to seat, Marcurio made a quick gesture to the attendant at the door, signaling him to close the door. All eyes were on me.

“The High Ambassador is not here yet.” muttered Caesennius, in polite protest.

“The Thalmor envoy, _Legate Rikke_ , is on the other side of that door. I could not bring her in without the approval of all involved, but I will not send her outside of the monastery. It would be a carnage and your men to suffer it.” I replied, gesturing to both sides of the table.

Caesennius’s cheeks reddened, but he knew he had to abide by protocol.

“I refuse to discuss peace terms with that Thalmor bitch.” said Ulfric.

“Language, my jarl!” I exclaimed, almost without thinking.

Jarl Balgruuf snorted. Well, there goes my hope for a mature conversation about it.

“My apologies, but either she walks or I do.” I turned to the other side of the table.

“Ambassador Elenwen wants to make sure all terms of the White Gold Concordat are respected - and it’s on everyone’s best interests that we let her.” said Tullius, after clearing his throat.

“He dares to threaten us with his elf pals?” Galmar hollered. “This is an insult!”

“General, I don’t recall seeing her name in any of the many documents and statements I’ve been reading over the past week.” I said, trying to keep my voice loud, but cool.

“We did not mean to include her as part of our delegation until...” attempted Rikke.

“Ah, that’s great. Clearly that show how much the Empire values these talks. A waste of time! We should leave, jarl Ulfric!”

“Don’t cut her off like that! Ulfric, teach your bulldog some manners!” said Elisif.

“Enough! No more name calling on either side, please! Now, as for Elenwen - I don’t think I want to discuss anything with her either, General Tullius, but I won’t let’er kill this summit before it even begun!” Everyone quieted down again. “We all know that’s exactly what she wants.”

I turned towards the Stormcloaks. “Jarl Ulfric, surely you can be gracious enough to tolerate her presence as an observer?”

Adept politician that he was, he didn’t waste the chance to have extra bargaining power for later.

“A silent observer.” He replied, with a soft smile - clearly willing to make his concession look like a personal victory of mine.

Interesting strategy.

“Let her in, then.”

That gave me a few seconds’ respite to gauge the reactions on the other side of the table. Tullius looked pleased, but Rikke still smelled of suspicion. Meanwhile, Marcurio, who had stayed right behind me, slipped me a small note while refilling my goblet.

> "Please, don’t let her kill this summit before it STARTS."

Asshole. It doesn’t look like anyone noticed, at least. My relief was short lasted, as Ulfric decided to sharpen his claws, convinced he had me in his pocket, with a ridiculously pompous speech - something on the Empire’s unjust claims, how low he was stepping by looking at Tullius, and how he was only doing it for me.

We are all here just to help me end the dragon menace, thank you very much - can you stop talking now?

Once he finally did, I made my best effort to hide my derision.

“Excellent. I’m truly pleased to see that many of Cyrodiil’s most beloved traditions will continue to be honed in Skyrim, no matter what comes out of this conflict.”

Galmar rolled his eyes - for once, he seemed to get the allusion.

“Let’s get to the point, the Nordic way.” Rikke said, harshly resting her goblet on the table. “Name your terms, Ulfric.”

“I want Markarth.”

“Wait, that was a little bit too to the point.” I said. “Seriously? First chance to ask for something and you ask for a whole city?”

More long winded speeches and indignant faces followed. Jarl Balgruuf considered it treacherous to even consider, Elisif went red with rage, and both Legate Caesennius and Erikur shrugged, as if nothing more than a sweet roll had been asked. Arngeir had to scream for order, and sent each delegation away to at least pretend to give each proposal due consideration. After over an hour of muffled arguing, a second note reached my lap as Marcurio refilled my goblet.

> "They will offer Falkreath instead. Erikur's brilliance."

As Thane of Falkreath, supporting such an initiative felt out of the question. As impertinent and sleazy as Siddgeir may be, he had opened the doors of his longhouse and his bedroom, provided countless business opportunities, and had hinted at letting me build my own estate on his land. A few more minutes passed before Rikke came to me with a stewart, asking for my opinion on the counter offer.

I pretended to be surprised at the news, then thoughtful. "Aye, that sounds like a better deal for us. I don't see it working, though - for either side."

"What do you mean by that? Markarth is much bigger, and its silver mines should be a priority."

"And it's also a symbolic bastion for Ulfric. Likely he won't accept anything else, and we run the risk of killing the negotiations on the first round."

"You'll have us simply yield to him?" said she. Well, if she won't help me for the sake of peace...

"I'll have you do nothing! I' m an unbiased observer here. But Falkreath? The gate to the Pale Pass? How are you planning to keep supply lines from Cyrodiil? "I asked, impartiality be damned.

"Sea trade routes can be arranged." Rikke replied, clearly trying to be vague.

"Och, I bet that was Erikur's idea."

"How... what?"

"Have you noticed how the quality of elven swords he sells to the Empire gets flimsier by the month? I'm sorry, but offering Falkreath over Markarth is too unbalanced. The only reason they would accept such a thing is if it was meant to be from the start."

Legate Rikke downed half a goblet of wine in one gulp and began rubbing her temples.

"I'll try to make Tullius see reason."

* * *

Tullius proved a reasonable negotiator - especially if compared to Skyrim's aspiring royalty. By the third day of negotiation, the shouting matches between High Queen Elisif and High King Ulric had grown as annoying as their titles were irrelevant. For once, it wasn't Ulfrid being the most petulant child - Elisif had grown unruly enough to drive General Tullius to openly chide her. Oblivion hath no fury like a woman whose lover has been murdered, I suppose.

Nevertheless, her constant name-calling was driving negotiations to a dangerous edge: after Marcurio's panicked face at the prospect of Riften being delivered to the Imperials, her hysteric outbreak offended Galmar enough that the Stormcloak delegation stood up and left the room.

Meanwhile, the dragon had enough. Frustration overtook me, and I followed the Stormcloak delegation outside - determined to stop them in any possible way. The sound of angry steps became deafening, as the gates closed on my attempt at peace. In a matter of minutes, the soldiers camped outside would begin their frenzied payback. If there was ever a time to reassert my power as Dragonborn, it was _now_.

As Ulfric reached High Hrothgar's main gates, ten thousand men down the hill turned to expect an announcement. He cleared his throat, preparing to address the crowd - no doubt to announce a failure and set off a massacre.

Out of pure instinct, the dragon shouted a wall of fire through my lips, closing his way out.

Walls shook for a few seconds, and both Imperial and Nordic jaws dropped as the sound of unsheated blades invaded everything. I had meant to stop him, but I had ended up attacking him on neutral ground, right in front of thousands of his men.

There was nothing left to lose, the massacre was to begin soon. The blood in my veins became unbridled fury, my skin became a furnace, and my vision turned crimson. The dragon had gone loose.

"Make it rain, Sira. End this madness already" Aela whispered.

When did she get behind me?

" ** _STRUN BAH!_** " I shouted again. A heavy downpour put down the flames, while aggressive winds forced the soldiers below to duck for cover.

Meanwhile, I could feel my nails turning into claws and my frizzy hair turning into fur.

"Stop it right there, Jarl Ulfric! Get back inside, now!"

Let the wolf breath, Sira, and then replace its leash.

"You bark orders at the High King!"

"Aye. And I will gag a High Queen if I need to. You stay here, and we finish this negotiation. I will not allow a few backhanded insults and tantrums let the lickspittles and crooked traders win. You want to antagonize a grieving widow and set Nord against Imperial against mer against soldier, but there are only two sides here: Tamriel and those who will see it burn. Now get back inside and at least _pretend_ to be the bigger man!"

"There is nothing left to discuss with the Imperials. They will not hear reason."

"And neither will you."

"You place this on me?"

"I place this on all of us, wasting time with biased envoys and pages hiding an agenda. Erikur instigates whatever sells more weapons, and Jorleif hides half the messages that reach him. Do you know who his family trades with? Tullius refuses to acknowledge Solitude's family ties with Windhelm's, and the altmer just sweep the coin you all leave behind. And you, who claim to care about Skyrim only, will let it be destroyed on account of your housecarl's wounded pride."

The weapons below us stopped mattering, as fifty pairs of eyes clad in fine clothes looked at me as the new enemy. Esbern took over, calmly reminding us of what was at stake.

"Don't you understand the danger? What the return of dragons means? Alduin has returned. The World Eater. Even now, he devours the souls of his falled comrades. He grows more powerful with every soldier slain in your pointless war. Can you not put aside your hatred for the sake of this mortal danger?"

"Oh, what a pretty speech." Elenwen's voice ran behind me. When had the Thalmor joined us?

"Shut up!" Cried me, Tullius, and Ulfric in unison.

Tension broke enough for me to regain command of my own body.

"Seeing as we all agree for once... let us resume the dance - without the crowds. No more Legates, housecarls, and cupbearers. General, Jarl Ulfric, Esbern - please follow me back inside. The rest of them can wait outside and drink some of that fancy spiced wine they're hiding, or I'll have my twins bound them by the wrists." I turned sharply around and walked back inside, holding my breath until I felt their steps behind me.


	38. Loyalty is much more brittle than steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A delicate truce was signed, and Skyrim held its breath to see how long it would last - maybe until the end times? Disgusted by weeks of politickeering, empty compliments, and the type of manipulations Sira has always been proud of mastering, she seeks refuge in the Companion's rough and blunt ways. Nobody there would betray her, right?

Once all frills were banned, it took us but two days to sign a declaration of temporary truce.  Markarth was to go to Ulfric, in exchange for Dawnstar and public apology for war crimes committed during the incident. We stood one next to each other, Ulfric, Tullius and I, as Arngeir announced the expectant crowds of the basic terms of the ceasefire. Messengers were dispatched, camps were lifted, and big names left escorted by their respective troops.

I was left in charge of a small army of dignataries and diplomats, set on deciding the finer points of the agreement: deadlines for troop movement, guidelines to handle foreign recruits (both volunteered and levied), instalments plans to pay reparations, safeguards for the property of supporters left on the wrong side.

It took me a whole extra week of grueling discussions to solve all the practical details deemed to uninteresting to Jarls and Commanders. Why should they, when they could simply put their bureaucrats back in charge under the Dragonborn's supervision?

Whoring is more honourable than diplomacy, I swear.

* * *

  
When it was finally time to descend from High Hrothgar, I found Skyrim had been brought to a standstill, right in time for harvest. The ride was silent: boarded up farmhouses and closed forts peppered the way back to Jorrvaskr, where Marcurio and I were greeted by a completely closed market. Other than wildlife, we faced no attacks while on the road - even bandits seemed to have gone home.

Just as well. I was done with talking. Marcurio tried the occassional jape, and quickly gave up after noticing my chuckles were forced. After days of bottling shit up, I didn't remember how to be properly angry, and the forced sedentarism had exhausted me. The bright lights and complex sounds of the forest had become confusing, and the aurora borealis we found near Fort Amol felt oddly melancholic.

My mind kept mulling veiled insults, insincere compliments, and a hole in my heart caused by absolute distrust.

_The Blades knew_. Delphine tried to imply Esbern had stumbled upon this knowledge in one of Sky Haven Temple's many lost books, but the wolf smelled the lie. Somehow, they knew who lead the Graybeards and they demanded his head.

Alduin is more important than their ridiculous sense of justice, I'd told them. Paarthurnax had been of great help, and this was not the right time to go around killing allies. After Alduin's gone... it wouldn't be the time either, but I refrained from saying that. My guts were frozen by the rapid thoughts in my head, quickly going through horrible scenarios.

_They knew because someone had told them_. But who? High Hrothgar had been a nest of spies the past few weeks, and anyone could have overheard a veiled comment. That seemed too easy an explanation, however. The Graybeards would never reveal it, mute as they were, and there were only two people I had told: my two best friends.

Was Aela that desperate to leave the Companions for the Blades? Had my hireling turned confidante been so unreliable all along? Riding right next to me, alone as we were, with his clumsy movements whenever his horse went moody, I leaned for silent closeness, trying to smell his intentions.

I found nothing beyond the smell of his confusion and pain at my coldness.

Ahead of us, we had at least another couple of weeks preparing for Odaahving's capture. He stood next to me as I discussed practical matters with Jarl Balgruuf - the mechanics of the trap, the thickness of the chains, the contingency plans in case Odaahving proved impossible to restrain.

At least these were practical matters that occupied my head with blunt, concrete actions. Meanwhile, Jorrvaskr's comfort awaited me, tainted by tense moods and quiet bickering.

* * *

  
The Companions as a guild were neutral in the Civil War, but its members could not be forced to: war had come home.

Vignar and Torvar would not sit at the table at the same time as Athis and Ria. Farkas kept fluttering from band to band, but even his childlike joy seemed exhausted. The new whelps, Jerome and Erik, had been taken for a hunt with Aela "to keep bad blood from seeping in". Stuff was getting done, but only begrudgingly - everyone was too busy resenting some part of the treaty, and blaming their Shield Siblings for it. Blaming _me_.

I could hardly recognize my mead hall. In less than two hours, Torvar's veiled slights and Ria's passive aggression got the best of me, and I abruptly grabbed my still-full tankard and threw it against the wall.

"Enough of this bullshit! I've had it with pandering to political sensibilities! I should let Alduin burn you all."

A dozen eyes turned to me, silently accusing me of treason and madness - or at least it felt like it. I stood up and sought a chair outside. The training yard was empty and eerily silent. Our practice dummies shook slightly under the passing wind, as if mocking our laziness.

"You're back." Vilkas' voice reverberated behind me.

"And only, what? a week after I was expected? The negotiations would not end. There was always some detail to discuss again, some favour to repay... all too ensure everyone is equally miserable. As if the end-times weren't upon us."

"Then why are you here, brooding, if there's so much to do?" He said, cutting off my rant.

"Because I'm tired. I've sat on my ass too long and somehow that's tiring. I wish I could just stick my sword through all those stewards and petty delegates."

"Yes, all that whining must be exhausting" he said, with an odd smile. "Especially for a pampered debutante used to getting their way."

Ah, right. I'd forgotten that I had convinced so many that I was an actual elegant lady, and not an expensive bar wench.

"Listen, Vilkas, right now I really don't have it in me to humour you. If you have nothing constructive to say, leave me be."

"No." Now he was just openly smiling. "You've grown weak and soft, Sira. Tsk, tsk. Too long among great men, next you'll be asking Marcurio to clean your dishes? Do you even remember how to wield a sword?"

Something on my head clicked right there. His tone wasn't angry either - it was playful and only slightly insolent.

_Talos bless him, he's offering me exactly what I need._

"One more word, and you'll find out." I said, returning the smile.

You think you can scare me that easily, you silly girl?"

I jumped out of my chair and ran towards the middle of the yard.

"You arrogant arse! Come here and repeat that, if you're so brave!"

He threw a blunt iron sword and a hide shield at me.

"I'll make you regret the insolence." He replied, containing his laughter.

My sonorous laughter made nearby birds scatters, and I placed myself in position, ready to clash as physically as possible.

Later that evening, after I was done counting my bruises and slinging my left arm, I finally felt rested and free - ready to take on the challenges ahead.

* * *

  
The following days were full of challenges, at least. Now that a potential invasion was off the table, Jarl Balgruuf seemed to have remembered that dragons are dangerous creatures, and was sparing no precaution when it came to securing the town for Odahviing's capture.

The Companions were given no more quarter to indulge in their rivalries: we all had to help protect our home, after all. Eorlund and Adrianne Avenicci worked together, side by side, for the first time in their lifes, working the massive amounts of reinforced steel necessary to forge the chains that were to trap the dragon.

To design the mechanical trap itself, we had recruited an expert from Markarth, Calcelmo, an old mage who specialized in Dwemer machinery. The actual machine was being assembled by a team of city guards under the leadership of Amren, and the hinges and fittings had been outsourced to Alvor and the Falkreath smith.

Meanwhile, the twins had inventoried all available armor and gear, selected what was most likely to withstand dragon fire, arranging for repairs and maintenance of older pieces. No civilians were expected to fight the dragon, but they should stand protected if the beast got out of control.

Njada and Athis organized fire brigades, and Torvar lent a hand for the construction of a makeshift camp north of the city wall - a roof for every citizen of Whiterun, should the city be completely destroyed. We sent word to Aela and the whelps, urging them to come back from their hunt bringing as many pelts and hides as they could.

Marcurio and I had already gone through every crate of supplies and inventoried all food and alchemical ingredients available - I don't think there was a single butterfly left in the province - but every day brought something new to repair or supervise.

And every night, my sore shoulders and blistered hands would fail to take my mind off his mysterious disappearances, at random times of the day.

"Maybe he's just taken a lover," said Farkas, one Sundas evening where I couldn't find him. "Didn't you say he had it for Anoriath?"

"Elrindir." I clarified, forcing a smile. It was a very simple, likely explanation, but now that _the Blades knew_...

"Aye, that makes more sense. Once Aela gets back, we'll get more tales from her. You think she'll take much longer?"

"I don't know. She should be here already. I hope she didn't run into trouble." I hope she comes back here, and not to Sky Haven Temple.

No, Sira, let's not go down that road.

She arrived the following morning, Erik and Jerome in tow, in the middle of breakfast. I was savouring the peace provided by my steamy cup of coffee before going back to my studio with

Marcurio, who wanted to discuss a large purchase of potions from Riften.

Everything in my mind was the bitter aroma of roasted beans and of my deliciously pungent slice of Eidar cheese - but as soon as she entered the room and dropped her stack of furs on a chair, the rotten, sweet stench of betrayal overwhelmed me.

As soon as she saw me, her usual dignified strength shrunk visibly. It left her with no room to deny anything.

"Sira, can we have a word in private?" she asked. "I can explain."

"There is nothing to explain. You sold my secrets to Delphine, go explain to her. I never want to see you again."


	39. The Dragon in the wolf's den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayal, an inhuman amount of pressure, and draconic anger make for a volatile combination. So if the chance to escape it all for a couple of days presents itself, why shouldn't Sira take it? After all, she's just helping a dear friend - that's all.

Anger had kept me from falling while confronting Aela, and fury carried me back to my studio with my pride intact. As soon as I was able to slam the door behind me, my knees gave in and I was forced to sit on a side table, tears now dropping from my eyes as if from their own volition.

Accustomed to seeing other women as rivals back in Anvil, Aela had been the first - largely, the only - woman whose uninterested company I had enjoyed. Sigrid had been kind to me, if only out of support for her nephew, while Ria had been hard to respect out of her naivete and Njada impossible to relax around because of her hotheadedness. Aela had been my equal, my sister in the beastblood, the agile stealth that complemented my fury. If there was anyone I would have been able to talk about Sovngarde and my fear of the final battle, it was her. She had been my confidante since the night of the first dragon attack, and we'd shared tents, whispers, anxiety, grief, and even cotton rags during our moon blood.

And it had all been a lie.

Bitterness spread down my face in between my wails. So this is how a broken heart is supposed to feel? Was it even appropriate to feel this way over someone you weren't romantically attached to? Shit, how could losing a lover hurt half as much as this?

As my grief made the anger disappear, I didn't notice that Marcurio had been in the studio all along, staring at me. So much for protecting my dignity upstairs. It wasn't until he approached me and started scratching my head that I became aware of this.

"Shh, girl, it's going to be allright. Let it all out. It's going to be fine." He whispered, bringing my head closer to his shoulder. Eventually I calmed myself enough to stop sobbing, and he rose to get me some water.

"What happened to you? Want to tell me about it?" he said. 

"It was Aela all along. She just came back. She admitted to it. She sold me to the Blades."

"What are you talking about?"

"Paarthurnax. She's the one who told the Blades about him. That's why Delphine came up with that ridiculous request after the summit. Justice my arse. Library reasearch, please! It had to be you or her to tell her, you know, and it's been killing me not to know... oh, Divines forgive me, I've been such an idiot! My two best friends, and not knowing which one!"

"Yes, you have. But it's not as if you didn't have enough on your plate already... being betrayed hurts, don't I know it. Now you know, and that's what's important."

"You're right! We have more important things to deal with right now. To think I wasted so much time worrying because you kept disappearing, when it was all in my head!" An odd expression assaulted his face when I said that. "It was her all alone. I didn't want to... I mean, it's not that you..."

"It's fine. I know what you mean. You've known her for longer, after all. Nobody ever wants to believe themselves betrayed. It's going to keep hurting for a while, but it's for the best over the long term."

I stood up, trying to recover some appearance of sanity.

"Well, enough misery then. You were here for a reason, I bet, and I hope that reason was good news about our little Solitude gamble." Marcurio grinned while taking out a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket. "The courier just caught up with me not an hour ago. The report looks quite favourable, I'm actually struggling not to get too excited. Here," he said, handing it over "you crunch those numbers while I fetch my things and head for the inn."

"The inn? Wait, why?"

"Well, if Aela is back it means the whelps are back too, right? So I no longer get to use that bed for free. I'm not a Companion, remember? This isn't my home. I won't take long."

There was no hint of reproach to his words, and yet, given the circumstances, they felt so wrong. It dawned on me that even if he was now my business partner, he'd have a hard time proving to be anything more than a hireling after my departure for Sovngarde.

"Well, fine, go." He picked up his rucksack and headed for the door. "Wait!"

"Yes, Sira?"

"Do you truly have no family name, or do you just refuse to use it?"

He raised an eyebrow at my question. Odd timing, I know.

"My parents disowned me. You know that story already."

"Aye, but did they make it official? Are you really banned from using it?"

He sighed. Clearly I wasn't triggering happy memories. "They did. A band was posted at the Plaza. My things were publicly thrown to the street and my old neighbours openly taunted me as Marcurio-No-Name until I left for the province where nobody has a last name."

"Well, if that's the case, I see no impediment for you to start using mine."

"You're not serious."

"I am very serious. You are too weak to hold my shield and would make a terrible Shield-brother, but legal brother... why not?"

"You're not serious. You know that's not how it works..."

"Bullshit, Marcus Caronte. That is exactly how it works. My grandparents are dead, remember? And so is their only daughter. I am the chief of my own, one-person family."

"You'd do that for me?" he asked, clearly touched. "Marcurio Caronte... it does have a nice ring to it."

"I'll ask Proventus Avenicci to help me draft a document about it next time I see him. I won't have any upjumped former poacher question your right to be anywhere."

* * *

While I subreptitiously secured my best friend's financial future and secured the future of my family line (although I had never cared much about the latter), Jorrvaskr was abuzz with gossip and rumours because the Harbinger had banished a member of the circle.

_Oops._

The twins and Athis had knocked on my my door not long after Marcurio left, clearly unhappy, each one of them with a different report of how the whelps and the rest of the town was taking the news.

"Jerome and Erik barely know you, Harbinger. They may as well choose to leave with her. At least talk to them and try to explain your decision!" Athis said.

"It's not just the new blood. The entire city has lent itself to a very harebrained scheme of yours, and this sort of instability is poor repayment for the trouble you've put us all through." Vilkas continued.

"How could you do it, Sira! After everything you two went through together! Are you even allowed to do such a thing?" Farkas bawled, turning to his brother.

"He has a point there. You are not. You cannot expel a Companion without discussing it with the Circle, or giving said Companion the chance to defend herself. You were out of bounds!" said Vilkas, with a strained voice that matched his bloodshot eyes perfectly.

_Great, I've interrupted the man's hangover._

"What are we supposed to tell the guards? They were awaiting her orders for the tower's defense." Athis again.

"Do any of you even care to ask my version of events?" I finally spoke.

"By all means, try."

"You'll see, while we were travelling together, Aela became privy to one of the Greybeard's most heavily guarded secrets. At the summit, she chose to disclose this information to a rival faction. This faction is now calling for a personal, and rather unreasonable vendetta. She betrayed my trust and endangered countless lives." I said, trying my best to keep my voice as steady as possible.

"Well, as far as your trust goes, the Circle should remain above personal feuds. Now, the Greybeards..." began Athis again.

"No, no, that's not right. Revealing secrets like that, that's not honourable. All groups have secrets, and if she cannot be trusted..." Farkas interrupted, only to be nudged in the rib by Vilkas. It was hard to remember sometimes that Athis had been spared the worst of our secrets.

"It doesn't matter. In a way, Athis is right, this is not Circle business. I didn't cast anyone out. I told Aela I never wanted to see her again, which is not the same."

"But that's... for that to happen, it would mean one of you would have to..." Farkas tried to argue.

"She is no longer my friend. We won't be going hunting anytime soon, but that shouldn't affect things on the long term." _I'll be off to Sovngarde in less than ten days anyway._ "We are still Shield Siblings, and I'll talk to the whelps and explain it's a false alarm, allright?"

Everyone nodded. "Well, back to work, people! We have a dragon to imprison."

Farkas and Athis left, but Vilkas stayed behind.

"Anything else you need to discuss with me?" With his face greasy and full of stubble he looked more pained than angry, but I still braced myself for a fight.

"Help me" he said, dropping himself on a chair. " _Please_. I have barely slept in three weeks. This whole... the summit, the fights, the tension, it's driving my wolf mad. You said you'd help me."

"Oh." His sincerity disarmed me completely. Such an earnest call for help was so unlike him that it made me realize just how much pain he was in. How did I not notice it had gotten this bad?

"I understand now is not the time, but I was hoping... if you could just promise, now that the dragon business is nearly done, maybe once we've trapped the whole thing we could take a trip up north..."

No, Vilkas, darling, that's not going to happen. I leaned towards him and took his hand.

"I think... now is precisely the time. Everyone is very busy anyway, they won't notice if we disappear for a couple of days. Meet me behind the stables two hours before dawn. We'll leave Farkas a note so he can cover for us."

* * *

The ride was to Ysgramor's tomb was ridiculously quick. During the last stretch right before reaching Dawnstar, he nearly drove our horses to exhaustion, to the point that I had to mix stamina potions into their water.

It was puzzling, especially as I had just spent the last month stalling things. What was his rush? Was he afraid of being stopped by a soldier patrol? Of anyone noticing our disapperance? Of changing his mind?

He fidgeted incessantly while I dug up the witches' heads from the ice block next to the entrance. At least this time we knew the way and the back passage was still open: I couldn't have handled his restlessness much longer.

Once inside the main chamber, just as readied myself to throw the damned rotten thing into the Harbinger's flame, I felt his hand on mine and the scent of panic overwhelmed my nose.

"This... It has never been done on a living human. If I start screaming, if it hurts... just keep going."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Damn you, Vilkas. You better not die on me now." I said, and dropped the head into the fire.

He didn't die, but he was out for a while. Enough time for me to think him dead, then notice a faint heartbeat, and drag him outside. He woke up startled, and it took him a while to remember where he was. Then he sat on the floor, leaned against the statue of Ysgramor and wept.

"It's like waking up from a dream... no, a nightmare. I think I want to vomit."

"It's fine. Here, use this" I said, pushing an urn his way. He stared, unamused. "What? I don't carry a bucket in my backpack! We can always wash it or just leave it outside."

"It's not that. I'm just... it will take a while to get used to it." Then he puked. His breathing was still ragged when I pulled out a cloth, moistened it with a health potion, and washed his brow.

"It's fine. You let me know when you're ready to go."

An hour later, he was up and walking, albeit slowly. His usual grace seemed to be amiss, as if he were readjusting to a body that was suddenly smaller than he was used to. He needed help mounting Martin, but progressively regained his old nimbness during the long ride back home.

By the time we reached Jorvaskr, it was mid-afternoon and he looked none the worse for wear, with the exception of his deep frown and constant fidgeting. Were it not for his almost complete silence, he could've been mistaken for the old Vilkas of my whelp days.

The dining room and living quarters were empty - clearly everyone was too busy to waste the final hours before dinner. With nobody to bother us with casual questions or idle gossip, I chose to walk Vilkas to his room and make sure he was allright. His fidgeting was getting to my nerves.

"Feeling better now? Would you like me to fetch you a washing basin? You should probably just get an early night, tomorrow you'll be as good as new and nobody will ask too much. They're all scared of you anyway." I kept blabbing, mostly to fill the air with some sort of sound. Quiet Vilkas felt a bit like dead Vilkas.

Then again, I had just killed a part of his soul, hadn't I?

"I'm fine. Go, Sira. I'm fine."

"You keep saying that. How are you _really_ feeling?"

"It's... hard to explain." He got up from his chair. "I'm fine, by all standards. I feel clean and oddly at ease, but at the same time, everything has been numbed." 

He strolled around his room, wringing his hands. "My wolf senses are gone, and I think I'll miss them." Out of the blue, he turned towards me and added, "I can no longer smell your heart beating, the way I used to."

Hearing him say that made me surprisingly aware that I still could. I abruptly closed the door behind me, dropped the alchemy chest I was holding on his desk, and approached him.

"Interesting." I said. I took a deep sniff at his neck, and he took a step back. His heart began beating faster. I knew that smell.

I had completely missed the moment in which it started coming from him, though.

_Stupid, blind Sira._

"You shouldn't have told me." I said, with a soft giggle. "You've given me power and Divines know how I'll use it."

Suddenly his hands had stopped shaking and had mysteriously been placed around my neck.

"Two can play this game, Sira. I've smelled you in the past."

"You bluff, my dear Vilkas. " His pulse wasn't letting him get away with it. "This is quite the leap you're taking." I replied, wide grin covering half my face, my hands casually playing with his armour's back straps.

"The maiden took the risk herself, by coming to play to the wolf's den." He said, before unbuckling my cuirass.

"Pity the wolf seems fonder of talking rather than playing."

As usual, he did not take calmly to the dare. He pushed me against the wall and went straight to my neck, nibbling the sensitive skin right above my collarbone.

_Stupid, blind Sira. How did you miss all the signs?_

I began to fumble avidly with his armor, loosening the chestplate and reaching for the smallclothes underneath. He smelled of sweat, roasted meat, and corundrum, a strong but not unpleasant scent.

As soon as his breastplate was out, he lifted me up and _placed_ me on his bed, with a strangely reverential gesture. Then he began removing my boots and slowly unlacing the linen dress I wore under my armour.

If I'd known, I would have worn a cleaner one. Great.

He didn't seem to mind. Once my dress was out of the way, though, he carefully removed my chest band and contemplated my naked torso for a few seconds. Abrupt shyness overtook me, reminding me of my bony ribcage and unfeminine angles, and I tensed up a bit.

He noticed.

"What, not what you expected?" I said, trying to make light of the situation.

"No, not all. Incredibly better than I expected." He rubbed his nose in the gap between my breasts. "You have a warrior's body."

"But aren't you relieved to find no scales?" I asked. "Now, your turn to undress. Let me see that pelt." Our laughter didn't last too long, for after 20 seconds, he was completely naked on top of me. His brusque kisses and two-day stubble felt re-invigoratingly raw against my waist and thighs.

Soon after I had no choice but to flip him to make him enter me. We locked eyes for a second, silently acknowledging we had reached the point of no return, before he propped himself up against a pillow, his cock still twisting inside me.

I tried putting him back down, but it was useless.

"I must look at you." He said, and I knew there was no point in overpowering him.

No wonder Kodlak had compared him to a sabre cat. Vilkas' body seemed handcrafted with power and agility in mind: every possible inch of it was covered with muscle, and yet it remained lean and symmetrical. As we progressed towards our respective climaxes, his back arched in fashion that was more beastly than human, and his face contorted with fury and need.

With the final throes, I watched my human friend return and drift off to sleep.

* * *

I awoke with a jitter, struggling to remember which room was this.

_Oh, shit._

My head was resting rather comfortably on Vilkas chest, my left leg squashed under his hips. Sprawled over the bed and quite deep under, he didn't notice, at least. I couldn't avoid a smile at the sight - clearly I'm that good - but it was quickly replaced again by utter embarrassment and dread.

What in Oblivion had I been thinking? Had I really thrown myself at my Shield-brother so shamelessly? And at Vilkas, of all people. Just the one who was least likely to laugh it off. Just the one who I most wanted to respect me.

Way to go, Sira.

What had I been thinking, really? Other than the fact that he was a tremendously handsome challenger and a surprisingly rational advisor? The impending threat of sneaking out to Sovengarde may have put my sense of pride into perspective, too.

Either way, what was done was now snoring next to me. Judging from the quietness, we were still a few hours away from dawn - not surprising, considering we had passed out on top of each other at mid-afternoon. I could sneak out back to my chambers with little chance of being spotted.

If only I could get my leg back... Clearly, I've lost practice in this kind of ordeal. And what would be the point of escaping, exactly? It's not like I could reasonably expect him to forget about it. We lived and worked together, and we hadn't even been drunk. Having him pretend it had never happened would sting much more than his open derision at my looseness.

And yet, this was his room, and I shouldn't be found here. On the count of three, Sira, just pull your leg back.

One... two...

"Hmph?" said Vilkas, his eyes shooting wide open. Crap.

"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"Mmm-hmph"

"Vilkas, my leg."

"Uh?"

"You're squashing it. It's tingling."

"Oh, sorry." He blinked slowly twice, as it trying to rouse himself. "Should've told me sooner."

"Believe me, I tried. You seemed to be enjoying yourself." I said.

"Aye, it was... nice. I had forgotten how it felt."

A dead silence followed. I stared at the ceiling long enough that I thought he had fallen asleep again, before noticing his thumb on my cheek.

"Thank you, Sira."

_Well, that was a first._

"No, thank you." I replied, almost automatically.

"What? Why are you... I meant for fighting my wolf."

"Ah, of course. Yes, you're welcome."

Silence ensued.

"I can just leave, if you want." I offered.

He frowned. "If _I_ want?"

"Well, I don't want to be a bother."

"Sira, don't be...ugh." He ran his hand over his hair and breathed deeply, as if summoning courage. I winced, preparing to be thrown out.

"I don't want you to leave. In fact, I'd really like it if you stayed. Is that allright?" he said, with a hint of fear in his voice.

Oh, Divines, what a relief.

"Of course it is." I said, before turning to face him. I couldn't contain the smile - why was I smiling again? - as I moved his hair away from his face.

"Good." he said, before leaning in for another kiss.

"I should probably still leave while everybody else is asleep. We have a couple of hours until then, though." I said.

"Good." He repeated, this time kissing my neck.

"We might want to have a story ready regarding what we did the past two days." His nibbles went downward, towards my chest. "Oh, damn you, that feels nice..."

"Good." He kept saying.

"But it feels like you just want me to shut up."

"Always."

"Such a gentleman." I giggled, and tried to prop myself up.

"Sorry, couldn't resist. You are rather lovely when you're indignant." He chuckled.

"And you are so handsome when you're scowling. Is this how is it going to be?"

"You tell me. How is it going to be?" He asked, while trying to pull me back towards him. "Would it be so horrible if the others know?"

"I think I've already created enough gossip for one week."

"Right. I still don't see the need to be sneaking around as if we were teenagers fooling around in a haystack. We're adults, we're in our thirties..."

"YOU are in your thirties, thank you."

"Well, excuse me, lady Sira. I'm just not used to this... lack of transparency. I've always told my brother everything, at least."

"And yet you've never been fond of whelps sticking their noses where they don't belong, have you? And believe me, I've got little patience for being anyone's dirty little secret. Nobody's pulling out an Amulet of Mara here, so I see no need to expose ourselves to any snide remarks. Not when I have a dragon to catch."

"WE have a dragon to catch." He interjected

"Afraid to miss the spotlight, aren't we?" I said.

He chuckled at that. "Some would say you are the one who won't share it."

_Yes, exactly. Which is why in a few days I'll leave for the land of the dead, where nobody comes back from, to hunt the World Eater._

"You can wrestle me for it tomorrow. Right now, I've got some soreness to sleep off." I said, turning around to face away from him. He placed his hand on top of my arm, softly caressing it.

"Are you sure that's the side of you that should be facing me?"

"It's what I had planned all along." I said, drifting off, feeling his steady breathing on my shoulder and his hands reaching for mine.

What were you thinking, Sira?


	40. A position of compromise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is running out for Sira: Sovngarde awaits, and crossing over to the realm of the dead is the only way to stop Alduin, right? If only she had not accidentally grown to care for her allies and Companions - one in particular deserves the truth, but his bewitching presence is making heroics feel harder than they should be.

While we had gone "north", most homes had been secured, ready to be evacuated in case of fire. However, the traps had not passed their first test, as it became clear that they needed to be fitted with longer chains. As they stood, they could immobilize an abnormally large giant or a small dragon, but not Alduin's lieutenant.  
Problem was, the entire hold seemed to be out of steel. The uneasy truce had allowed most merchants to begin trading with a bit more security, but anything remotely resembling weaponry or war supplies would be a violation of the High Hrothgar Treaty.  A party of laborers had been sent to Halted Stream Camp and was expected to come back in two or three days, with the necessary amount of iron, but the corundrum...  
"Harbinger!" Athis said, barging into my studio, cutting off old Proventus Avenicci's tiresome report. "We need to talk!"  
"Father Akatosh be blessed. Sorry, Proventus. My shield-brother here..." I pointed towards Athis, which he took as enough of a sign to start a rant of his own.  
The day had passed in an absent-minded blur. After sneaking out of Vilkas' chambers right before dawn, I had been continuously too busy to seek him out or try to talk to him. Any spare moment of idleness I had, I immediately occupied it - hoping to avoid finding myself suddenly standing in the same room as him with no choice but to talk to him.   
On the other hand, he had had been equally busy all day, it seemed, for he had not showed up around the mead hall or my studio all day.  
Maybe it's rejection that I'm avoiding at this point.  
"Cannot deal with that woman anymore! She has ruined all our counts! Thanks to her, the city guard is going to be short of resist frost potions!" Athis continued his rant, while Proventus scurried away.  
From Athis's fury at the _shamefully inefficient use of our resources_ to luncheon with Jarl Balgruuf, Njada's complaint of Torvar dodging his share of the burden because he was getting drunk with the guards, followed by yet another incident where Marcurio and his ridiculously specific checklists where nowhere to be found when I needed them - the day passed without a moment of peace until right before dinner.  
As soon as I finally found myself alone in the Harbinger's - I mean, my studio - I leaned back on my chair and closed my eyes. Food be damned, I just needed to rest them a bit. Human eyes were not designed to spend endless hours deciphering scribbles under candlelight.  
A pair of strong, calloused hands around my shoulders brought me back from my impending slumber, with rough but tender rubs. When did he get in?  
"Ah, I was just about to get up and lock the door."  
"You were just about to drool all over the table."  
"It's been a long day." I let him continue. "Too many people. All sorts of people." I breathed deeply before taking the plunge. "Where had you been?"  
"Busy." He replied, almost dryly. I immediately regretted asking, and my arms just dropped to the sides, hanging limply.  
 "And probably just as tired." He continued with a chuckle. "And beginning to be convinced you were avoiding me."  
 "Not you, just everyone." I purred, eyes still closed, at the warmth he was spreading down my neck. I brought one hand back up and reached for his leg.  
"Ah, I knew you'd like this little trick" he said, seemingly to noone. "Should I lock the door?"  
My eyes shot open. "I thought you had already."  
"I wasn't really planning to let things get... you know. Can't wait for it to be over, this dragon business. After that, maybe we can finally come clear to the others and not bother with locked doors."  
 _We_ are coming clean? Are _we_ a thing now?  
"I can't wait to go back to peace and quiet, and being left alone." I said, putting my hands on top of his and stopping that dangerous massage.  
"Oh, you don't honestly expect to be left alone from now on, do you? You'll be a hero across the province. Bards have been singing your deeds for months already..."  
"Exaggerated deeds."  
"And since the summit," he said, bringing my hands to his lips "You are said to have the political knowledge of Tiber Septim himself. I'm not sure there will be a 'normal' to go back to."  
"So what do you suggest? Should I just lock myself up here and talk to noone?"  
"Could I visit you at night?" He replied, his smile evident in his voice. I got up and turned around to face him. He looked ready to let my hand slip under his trousers.  
"Maybe you could take a trip south?" The nerve of him!  
"Ha! Anything else, Vilkas?"  
"I mean, we can go visit Cyrodiil for a while, see your friends and family. It would be a fun adventure, fighting bandits on the road without the world on your shoulders."  
A stab of ice and guilt went through my chest. How could I tell him my only friends back home had been pimps, thieves, and conmen? Better yet, when should I tell him it's useless to make plans for me to come back from Alduin at all?  
"Are you still up for that trip to Morrowind?" I leaned in to kiss him, only to quickly meet with fondling and nibbling.  Not to be outdone, I pulled the hair at the back of his neck, making him humm softly.  
"Ahhh, Sira, you sly Imperial debutante, what are you doing?"  
"Trying my best to annoy you, as usual."  
We enjoyed each other more fiercely for a few more minutes, until the strength of his groping made me stomp my left foot on the other chair. I began giggling maniacally.  
"What's so funny?"  
"Just remembered I met you on this chair. " I replied.  
He immediately let go of me and took a wide stride back. Ah, shit, Sira, way to ruin the mood again.  
 "Aye. Kodlak was sitting just where you were. Maybe we shouldn't be doing this here."  
I suppressed an eye roll. Kodlak would probably be so proud of himself, the way he had insisted on me giving Vilkas another chance - but saying that would break whatever we was.  
My tunic was loose enough that one of my breasts threatened to pop out.  
"Yes, you should go. I'll visit you later." I mumbled, adjusting myself.  
"Please do. Bring snacks." He said, turning around and closing the door behind him.

* * *

  
Three more nights passed, sneaking into his room after the day's business was done and sneaking back in the Harbinger's quarters, now declared a sexless territory, right before dawn. Every day drew the final preparations for Odahviing's capture and my own departure to Sovengarde.   
I tried my best not to sink into a  morbid mood, and whenever Vilkas' rough hands were holding my hips down or his paused breath tickled my neck, it was almost too easy. I struggled to feel guilty - just not to look like it - the day Alvor showed up at Jorrvaskr with a new set of tongs and hammers for the chain.  
He wanted me to heal his nephew of the wounds of war, but all I wanted was to stay in Vilkas' bed. I even allowed myself to dream of taking that trip together, to Morrowind or Cyrodiil or Hammerfell, once it was all over. However, the way Alvor hugged me on his way out - wishing me strength and divine protection - reminded me I was marked for death, even if nobody else knew it.  
Oh, why can't the tools go missing and buy me another week? What if Dragonsreach burns down? Will that get me another year?  
"To Oblivion with it, Sira. Just stay in bed with me one more hour. So what if everyone sees you? I'll hold them while you cut off their tongues, if they mock us."  
"Don't tempt me. I'd rather stay here _all day_ , you know, but it's not the time to be lazy. We need this to be over soon, remember?"  
"Off you go then." He released me from his embrace and tried to bite my buttcheek as I stood up. "Quickly, before I change my mind and lock the door."  
"You suck at threats, you know?"  
As light-footedly as I could, I closed his door behind me and tiptoed to my room. My studio's door creaked behind me, and I held my breath, hoping to catch any waking sound. Nothing.   
I crossed the still dark room towards my bed chamber - only to be stopped by a bony hand hanging from my armchair.  
I ran my hand towards a nearby display case, where an ornate (and likely blunt) ceremonial dagger awaited to save my life. I pinned the rather skinny body towards the wall, and was about to strike when I noticed its ponytail was familiar.  
"Marcus, what the fuck? What are you doing here!" I whispered.  
"Waiting for you! I mean... I thought you were in there, sleeping. No wonder there was no snoring. I... have a surprise for you, I just wanted it to be ready by the time you woke up. But why aren't you in bed? Where did you go at this blasted hour?"  
Oh, crap. If anyone knew I hated waking up a minute earlier than necessary, it was him.  
"I went for a walk to the kitchens. I couldn't sleep. Too much to think about."  
"Oh, of course." It was so believable that he sounded contrite. "Any boiled cream treats you brought with you?"  
"There were, but I ate them on the way back. Sorry."  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
"About what? The possibility of me growing fat?"  
"Sira..."  
"Right, I know what you mean." I stifled a yawn and stepped back, hoping he wouldn't smell the man all over me. "Don't really want to talk about it. Not now, at least. I'm cold. So what is this surprise business?"  
He lit the torches around the room. In between Kodlak's old book shelves now stood a mannequin, dressed in shiny glass armor. It looked brand new and custom made - he knew how much I hated wearing converted male models, which always caused me to stretch my neck. I gaped at it: malachite was expensive everywhere but downright impossible to get in Skyrim, and this one had solid gold cuffs and nails, a richly-carved dragon in its chest, and the shimmer of enchanting all over.  
"Damn you, Marcurio. What... Really? Why?"  
"Of course. I figured you'd sleep better if you were protected by the best armor money can buy, and... divines know, the stakes are high enough that it's worth it. "  
"I don't think I can take this"  
"Why not? It's not like I lack the money now, you know? I've got more than I know what to do with it! And once we're back on the road, adventuring, after this is over, there will be more, so..."  
"How?"  
"Well, getting the malachite was hard, but High Hrothgar was full of valuable contacts. I wanted Eorlund to do it at first, but he refused, not sure if he hates glass because it's so elven or just because I'm not a companion. I didn't want to tell him it was for you, since, you know, it was to be a surprise. He kind of figured it out after he saw me seeking other smiths, and agreed to sell me some Skyforge Steel mail for the padding. He already had your measurements, and I got Alvor to work the pieces..."  
"Alvor? He made this? Is this why he came yesterday?"  
"Right, I wouldn't have taken him to know how to work glass either, and I think he may have outsourced some of the work to the Riften smith, Balimund, but anyway... he dropped it here yesterday, at last, which made it easier to sneak into the city. I enchanted it myself. I had been practicing with Farengar for a while, I think they'll be powerful enough."  
"This is... that's a lot of work."  
"Yes, but it will yield us extra money on the long run, I think. The chest plate will increase your health, while the bracers will make your sword attacks faster and stronger. The helmet resists frost and the boots will resist fire, while the shield will repel all magic. Should do against dragons, eh?"  
"If this doesn't... wow. This is a jarl's armour. I had never... Legendary. Songs will..." Why was I crying?  
"I know. It's no bother. I mean, after all you've given me, you deserve no less. We're family now, after all. You're my little sister and I need to protect you."  
"I though _you_ were my little brother."  
"Nice try."

* * *

  
_Gianna was soon to be married to Adrian, the handsome eldest son to one of Cheydinhal's richest traders, and according to gossip, one of the dullest men in east Cyrodiil. As Madame Sienna's heiress, Gianna had a bright future ahead: not only would she be Sira's boss one day, but between her mother's designs and his father's providers, she would one day rule the fashion world of the entire province - stuck up names from the Capital be damned._   
_And yet she dreaded the thought of the wedding. Moreover, as Madame Sienna's heiress, she felt she could impose her whining on Sira, alongside most of the labour involved in her wedding gown._   
_"No, Sira, not like that. Let's go back to the V-Neck, shall we? Otherwise the overall look will be too bland."_   
_"Sure. I think I can deepen it a bit more if we get more support for the side barbs, see?"_   
_"You get me, Sira. You have an eye for scandalous fashions. Pity the groom is fond of boring clothes."_   
_"Surely you'll be able to polish his style a bit, milady?"_   
_"Only if I can't help it. Ideally, we won't have to talk that much to each other." I tried not to snort. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not being forced into this, and he's not completely detestable. We are not elves, after all, so it's not like we've been matched by our parents, you know?"_   
_"But you don't want to marry him, and yet you are. Sounds like you're being forced to me." Sira added, dryly. She was already known for her irreverence, and was used to being ignored most of the time._   
_"Well, there's a difference between being forced and being persuaded! But I don't expect you to understand. You have no family and no fortune to care for.  I'm lucky, you see. I am the daughter of a prestigious fashion designer, but we're not noble and not rich - not compared to them. I am so lucky that he has even noticed me, so I can't..."_   
_"Pass on the opportunity? No, I don't think so. It would break your mother's heart, and Madame has worked very hard for what you have."_   
_"Exactly! And now I have a chance to have a rich manor house, servants, to never want for anything. And the atelier will get the finest fabrics, imagine working with Aldmeri silks for half the price! We're all to benefit from this. You as well, Sira."_   
_Her tone left little question - it was time for Sira to watch her tongue._   
_"Yes, milady. I will earn higher commissions, and you'll find something to occupy your time after a while. You can travel to the capital, or visit one of those retreats in the West Weald... you'll have fun."_   
_"Yes, it will be fun." She stared at the looking glass, holding two different patterns of lace in each hand. "What do you think? This set for the hat and the one we saw yesterday for the embroidery, or would it be too much?"_   
_"I'm not convinced about the hat yet, milady."_   
_"And I'm not convinced about anything! I wish I could just... jump on a pirate ship and travel the world sometimes! Or steal a cart and lose myself in the capital, or go adventuring in Daggerfall, even Skyrim! Imagine what that would be like, Sira, to just disappear where nobody knows you and invent a whole new reputation for yourself!"_   
_"Or meet a bloody end by the tip of a sword. I'm sorry milady, but from my side of town... if you get a warm home, a full pantry, a good man by your side and the respect and deference from your neighbours... what else could you ask of life?"_   
_"Adventure! Romance! Glory! But of course, I would also need to learn how to use a sword. Ugh, I hate blood. And I hear ships are rarely clean these days."_   
_The country villa to which Gianna moved after marrying was perfectly clean and safe. The new collections she designed served to finance legendary parties and lavish donations to charity - which never managed to completely drown out the pain caused by her two miscarriages or Adrian's illegitimate half-Dunmer children, which quickly followed each loss. However, those news Sira only got through the outlandish exaggerations of ill-meant gossip, alongside scandalous stories regarding the many mercenaries and Legion veterans that were said to "inspire" each new design._

* * *

  
I was trying so hard to stifle my laughter that my ribs were hurting. Vilkas had just been regaling me with the most ridiculous story that had ever come out of the Bannered Mare, involving Nazeem, a self-professed "soldier of fortune" from Markarth and a barrell of mammoth cheese.  
Our bare legs were entangled under his pelts, the fire on his room long gone out. I could feel the tight muscles in his ankles and the myriad scabs and scrapes around them, making me feel less uncomfortable about the burnt, ridged scars that still covered some of mine.  
"For once, I'm looking forward at you bossing people around. Nazeem needs to be put in his place."  
"Meh, I don't know. I feel bad for his wife. She always looks so... fed up."  
"One of the many times in which a Skyrim marriage did not work."  
"Of course! I'm sure there are plenty more. I still can't wrap my head around it - What's that business of just wearing an amulet and choosing among a bunch of near strangers. How can you pledge your life so easily?"  
"Well, for the most part, it works. It's said that if both parties get along and are willing to put the work, then all you need is trust, respect, and a bed. Love comes on its own later on."  
He looked funny saying that. The harsh, hot-tempered, legendarily strong Vilkas... it made no sense to have him discussing marriage, and at the same time, of course he would be so matter of fact about it.  
My stomach roared, prompting him to jump out of bed and take  a bundle of apple dumplings from his drawer. I munched absent-mindedly, trying to figure out how we'd ended up here - or how I had managed to get there. I already had accumulated the ridiculous fortune and elevated position that brought me to Skyrim, and now I had also melted something inside an honourable and reliable man who had claimed to hate me - and that I was deadly attracted to.  
Life could only get so good.  
And now, somehow, I'm supposed to get up tomorrow, with the best men in the hold, and summon Odahviing. And then somehow make him take me to Alduin - only to waste in Sovngarde everything I had worked so hard for.  
"Are you allright? You looked lost for a second. Are you nervous about tomorrow?" He asked, bringing me back to the present.  
"Shouldn't I be?"  
"You've fought many dragons before. You'll have much better back up this time. What's the matter?"  
I turned around to face the ceiling.  
"It's just... those things you said about marriage and love coming on its own."  
I mentally pulled my own hair for saying that. I was about to get laughed at, and it's not like I cared about that anyway, did I?  
"Oh, right. I know you Imperials like your long courtships, and that's fine with me..."  
No, no, no, no, that's not fine! I had to put an end to this. Why can't I simply leave his bed?  
"I was engaged once" I lied, abruptly.  
"Oh. You never said anything." he said, gravely. "Was this back in Cyrodiil?"  
"Yes. He was... is, a merchant's son, like me. Like I was. His family owned the other half of Anvil's textile business, you see.  He was duller than Nazeem though, and as obnoxious as Heimskr, but we were to make everyone so happy and so rich by getting married! Don't get me wrong, nobody was forcing me, I mean, we were not _Elves_ , but I didn't want to disappoint grandpa, not after mother died."  
"What happened?"  
"Grandpa died, so I just sold his father our warehouses and all their contents instead. Took the money and came to Skyrim to find my father. Well, that was the plan. I got mugged and ended up on a prisoner cart while crossing the border, and after that I got sidetracked..." I turned back to him and forced a smile.  
"I'm glad you did."  
"No, you weren't. You hated to be stuck training such an entitled princess."  
"Well, she was an annoying little thing.... ahh"He stopped the banter as soon my hand reached his inner thigh. I felt him stiffen almost immediately. "Looks like you don't want to sleep tonight, eh?"  
"Ah, well, if you're too tired, I shall leave you alone."  
"Don't you dare, Sira. You..."  
"Don't boss the dragon around , my dear." I said, mock-offense stifling my laughter.  
"I won't. Just finish what you started, please. And don't leave me. I won't buy your business. I'll go with you on any adventure you want."  
Every ounce of sense screamed in my head to make him stop and set the record straight. No future, no escapades, no promises - Sovngarde awaits.  
"Even to Morrowind?" I said, somehow, climbing on top of him.  
Why did I just do that?  
"Even to the depths of Oblivion, until the Divines take me, if you'll let me."


	41. The lone children's dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On everyone's possible last night on Nirn, passions run wild and caution is thrown to the wind. And Sira has so much to do!

It was the queerest feast I had ever witnessed, and I was the guest of honor.

The chandeliers were rushedly lit, faces quickly scrubbed from sweat and ash, and there were no malachite platters with delicate finger food or exotic spices. Instead, Jarl Balgruuf had opened his cellar to allow guards and craftsmen to help themselves to his finest vintages, while Carlotta and Anoriath simply showed up with baskets of food, not bothering to barter with anyone.

Odahviing was being held securely atop Dragonsreach, and the city was safe. Nobody took the initiative:  as soon as Odahviing was chained atop Dragonsreach, a deafening cheer left all the fighters' throats and the Hall filled itself with crowds of relieved guards who had not expected to see the end of the day.

It was not long until they were met by everyone else in the city, ready to let tensions loose after weeks of disrupted trade and permanent fear. Toasts to the Dragonborn, the Jarl, the Empire, the Companions,  the True High King, and Dibella's teats quickly followed, and next thing I knew, I had nowhere to dodge the embrace of so many strangers, thanking me for deeds I had not done.

I briefly thought to protest and to remind everyone that the real battle was to come, but I soon recognized the manic dancing and extravagant euphoria for what it was: the last chance to have fun before the world was eaten, should I fail.

What need was there to save supplies for the winter, if we were all to die? Proventus and Irileth had tried to keep up a semblance of order and authority during the first hour of the feast, but it soon became clear that not even Balgruuf cared about his own status. Either he was about to be written into history books or it was the end of history, so he set politics aside and gave into a drinking competition against Torvar, Nazeem, and Acolyte Jennsen.

The chaos quickly grew, and I found myself struggling to locate any familiar faces. I fluttered from group to group, accepting anything that was offered, laughing loudly at every joke I was told, and trying not to ruin anyone's evening with the panic that kept accumulating in my chest.

Meanwhile, Sanguine seemed to have taken over the palace: Idolaf Battle-Born danced an energetic reel with Camilla Valerius before quickly running towards Ysolda to proclaim her the Divine of Beauty. Marcurio fed grapes to Farengar's mouth. Amren tried to sparr with Ria and resolved to simply carry her around, bridal-style, as soon as it became clear he couldn't win. Vilkas seemed nowhere to be found one second, and then immediately behind me, his hands on my waist - I wish I had pushed him away, but Ria quickly got hold of him with some nonsense about pigs and wolves. It seemed nobody had noticed, which made me want to cry and sigh in relief at the same time. Heimskr shared drinks with Aela and a group of Khajiit merchants, who had somehow gained entrance into the palace with Sujamma for Athis.

Dances around me became faster and more daring as mugs came and went.  I found myself pulled by Farkas into the middle of a strangely sexual quadrille. The rapid spinning and prancing, combined with the air of shameless familiarity now shared by everyone in the room, led me to try to pull Vilkas into it, gossiping whelps be damned. He refused, or was too drunk to notice what I wanted, so my hand fell on the nearest man it found - Hadvar's.

A cold chill ran down my spine and I almost forgot how to dance at all. I blinked, and Hadvar's betrayed face was replaced by Alvor's, who seemed to have forgotten who he was. In no state to walk without falling, he simply hugged me before leading a cheer to my name - "the prettiest gift his nephew had ever brought home." The cheer was interrupted by the sound of shattered glass, as tankards began to be thrown for no logical reason. I quickly scanned the room for Sigrid, who seemed to sleep atop a pillow of sweet rolls. I placed her man next to her and ran up the stairs - hoping to find saner company in the dragon.

Yes, that made perfect sense in my head.

I barely made it to the middle of the staircase before tripping on 190 pounds of man.

"The Dragonborn comes."

"Start singing that, and I'll throw you down the porch." I replied, jokingly.

"As if you could move me, little one. Carrot?"

"Since when do you eat carrots, Farkas?"

"Since they're all I could find. Come, sit with me." He tapped the step immediately above his head and dragged himself against a wall. I silently obeyed, noticing as I sat that I was still wearing my glass chestplate and boots - what ever happened to the bracers?

Somehow, it seemed unlikely they would be stolen, expensive as they were.

"Hate to disappoint, I know it wasn't me you were looking for."

"Nah, carrots are not that bad. Better than going hungry."

"Uh? I meant my brother."

"What about him?" I said, blinking innocently. Subtlety had never been his forte.

"It's him you were looking for, right? Will you two finally tell each other how you feel?"

Ah, shit. Again, I had forgotten that reading people's minds was his most developed skill.

"No idea what you're talking about."

"And they call _me_ Ice-brain."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't worry. I don't think anyone else has noticed, except maybe your pet mage."

Hollers and screams from downstairs drowned my desire for a witty rebuttal.

"Shit, tomorrow the whole town is going to feel all planes of Oblivion in their heads. "

"I think they think there will be no tomorrow."

I bit the tip off a particularly sweet carrot.

"What people will do to avoid cleaning up after themselves, eh?"

"Hah. I'll be hiding from Irileth in my room then. Vilkas says he's waiting for you by the Skyforge, by the way."

He stood up with surprising nimbleness, only to trip as soon as he reached the end of the stairs. As soon as he was gone, I made my way up, where a pair of gigantic yellow eyes waited for me.

* * *

 

The results from my negotiation with Odahviing brought a new level of finality to my upcoming battle. Suddenly, it was very clear that fighting Alduin was not only my main quest, but possibly my only purpose on Nirn - every stupid incident, miscalculation, and lucky coincidence had led me to this point.  
No, that's not true. My fate had been clear for months now, hinted at by the Greybeards and explicitly shouted by Paarthurnax - I had just been very good at not listening.

I could always refuse and let them all burn, all 300 people partying in Dragonsreach, all 300,000 of them in Skyrim, all millions of men, mer, and beastfolk on Nirn - but for what? Would that spare me? Wouldn't it be less painful to at least try?

Every lie I had told, every tiny detail of the fake persona I had built for myself would stop mattering either way. If, for some strange chance, I succeeded, I could simply continue the party in the Hall of Valor, my legend come true.

Could Shor detect the lie? Would he even care?

"Naive _joor_ , too ignorant to be a _dov_ , too weak to be a menace on her own... it's a portal! To be crossed at leisure! At Alduin's leisure!"

If I had been sober, I would have had the presence of mind to see what he had meant by it. As it was, the only part that mattered was that I had to go to Sovengarde, and would have to go on my own. No Marcurio to watch my back, no shield-brother to lift their sword by my side. No better talent to hide behind.

I ought to at least try, don't I?

* * *

 

The mad party was still going on when I walked back to Jorrvaskr. As Farkas had promised, Vilkas was curled up next to the Skyforge, with a basket of oranges and all missing pieces of my armor by his side. He seemed to be sleeping - now that he could sleep, after years cursed with the beast blood, he seemed to take every opportunity for it.

I brushed my fingers across his hair, not wanting to wake him up. For Dibella's sake, he _was_ handsome! He had been every dark and handsome stranger who did not care for tramps like me, ever since the day I first arrived in Whiterun. He had been the savvy man who should not even be tried to be scammed, who would never fall for pleasant lies, and who always had the upper hand - the one that I had to avoid. And somehow, less than 24 hours ago he had been promising to follow me anywhere and speaking of marriage.

How had this happened? Was I the one being scammed this time?

"Ahh, man. You weren't supposed to happen."

He stirred, making me realize I had said that out loud. No longer a good time to run away, then, I thought when I noticed his hands were reaching for mine.

"There you are. You weren't supposed to take this long." He said, coyly letting me know he had heard me.

"Your brother kept distracting me with some carrots."

"Is everyone still going at it up there?"

"Yes. No signs of it stopping yet. Maybe after the mead runs out..."

"Come here, then. Nobody's watching."

I got up and sat on the ancient forge's edge instead, with my back facing the flames.

"No, you come up here. I'll keep myself warm, thank you."

"You bossy little lady." He chuckled, and sat cross legged right in front of me.

"You knew all along, so don't act surprised." I said, reaching for an orange.

We fell silent, and he simply watched me eat. He seemed to find my eating fascinating, and I found his interest to be quite enticing. My cheeks suddenly started burning, and it wasn't just the heat from the forge.

When a drop of juice fell off my mouth, I casually let it slide down my neck. Two could play this game.

He grabbed another orange and started peeling it for me, not taking his eyes off me. I felt the strong urge to come clean to him about every lie I had ever told, and more importantly, about the ones to come. _Damn you, man, you are making this a lot harder than it should be._

I could've just walked away. It's not like I owed him any explanation, after all. He was a dear friend and respected _colleague_ that I had taken to bed. There would be others for him - if I succeeded. He would mourn me for a while, and then use his affair with the Dragonborn to score extra points at the tavern.

 _If I succeeded_. The image of his body being mangled and devoured by a dragon flashed through my mind. Whiterun in flames and Riverwood's wooden huts turned to ashes. Imperial stone buildings abandoned, moss overgrown around the corpses.

My eyes started burning, and I had to hold back the tears. I faked a loud sneeze just as Vilkas began tickling my nose with an orange slice.

"Moment ruined. Sorry about that." I said, chuckling.

"Are you allright?" He asked. He wasn't buying it.

I snatched the fruit from his hands and began eating, at a loss for words.

"You are afraid." He stated. "That is a good thing."

"I just want it to be over already. "

"That's two of us. It has to be worse for you, but I'm sick of everything being put on hold because of the damned dragons. We will have so much to fix after we're done with Alduin..."

Stop saying _we_ , please!

"You will continue as Harbinger." I said, trying to sound as emotionless as possible. "You are just better at it."

"You give us more prestige."

"But you do all the work!"

"But it's a responsibility given to you!"

"Oh, here we go again... Let's just deal with this later, all right? I'm tired. I will want to rest."

"We will. We'll just stay in bed together for a week and put the secret to rest. We will have to take my brother to Ysgramor's tomb first, though."

"Of course." I turned around and rested my head on his lap. "About Farkas, by the by..."

"I've told him nothing beyond the fact I was cured. First time I've ever kept something from him..."

"Right."

"But it will be over soon."

"It will."

We fell silent for a while. Dawn was approaching, and it was beautiful.

"I gave Marcurio full powers to buy land on my behalf." I lied. I hadn't done so yet. Would I have time?

"A house?"

"No, no. Actual land, in Falkreath. Close to Lake Ilinalta, I believe. Jarl Siddgeir promised me that right a while ago... and well, if the Carontes will be settling in Skyrim permanently, we will need an estate. "

"That's less than two hours ride from here." He said, smiling. Dawn was upon us, and the white city below us looked pink and orange under the flickering lights. "We'll have so much to do, once this is over."

I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. Vilkas shook me gently.

"We should go inside, get some proper rest. We have a dragon to interrogate tomorrow."

"Don't worry about that. I've got it. The dragon will talk on its own as soon as captivity gets to him."

"Sure, just let us know when."

"Don't worry, I'll handle it."

"Sira..."

"I said I would handle it!"

My voice shook...no, it reverberated in anger. I'm about to face Alduin on my own, and this mortal thinks I can't question his servant?

"I see no need to take such foolish risks at this point. It may be chained, but it can still breathe fire."

"So? Two can play that game, you know?"

He sighed, and for a second he looked scared.

"Are my eyes going red?" I asked, after a couple of deep breaths. He gave me a small nod of agreement. "Marcus mentioned it happens sometimes. Anyway, it will be easier if I talk to Odahviing. He won't talk to _joor_. Mortals, that is. I can negotiate with him as an equal, as a dragon-souled mortal who can Shout, but he won't yield in front of others. Dragons are awfully proud, you should know that by now."

"Damn you, woman! Let's just go inside. We'll go over our potions stocks in the morning, just in case."

He didn't know my potions stocks were already full with as much as I could carry. Healing potions, stamina potions, charged soul gems, trail rations, and my best weapons had been packed away for two days already. He didn't need to know how much it hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It had been a while since my last update! In between the blossoming love story and the release of Skyrim's Remastered Edition, this is probably the worst time to get writer's block. And yet...  
> Day-Work, freelance-work, and gym-work have been kicking my ass lately, though, so time has been scarce. I am looking forward to the holiday season for some tome off that will allow me to finally pen down all of Sira's crazy ramblings.  
> That being said, I feel like this chapter may have been a bit too angsty. It is a delicate part of the plot, I suppose, so she doesn't get to be as snarky as she used to be. Even the Dragonborn caves under stress!


	42. The lone children's lament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite the World-Eater, there will be a future - but it doesn't mean it will be worth sticking around for.

If there was ever a fake scowl, that was it.

Surely Vilkas was much more attached to his reputation than he was willing to admit. He was not cruel or mean, most likely simply not good with people, and being left alone suited that.  
Either way, ever since the first time we have shared some ale together, I had occasionally caught him staring at Sira - only to have him abruptly change topics. And lately, he seemed to be trying harder than ever to keep himself from smiling whenever she was around.

Curiously enough, she seemed less oblivious to it ever since we'd returned from the peace talks. Maybe she had finally learned a thing or two about reading body language. Maybe that was why he was trying so hard to scowl.

"Anything wrong up there?" I asked. Vilkas looked down at me, at first surprised by my presence. Unsurprising, really, seeing as he was at least two heads taller than me and Dragonsreach main hall was abuzz with exuberant guards and joyous cheers.  
"It's just so exasperating! Weren't we supposed to interrogate that dragon? Instead, she goes around smiling and congratulating the guards, playing court lady to the jarl."  
"She _is_ his thane, after all. And she's expected to congratulate the guards. They just risked their lives to get her that new pet, and they're not Companions."  
"Hmph."  
"It's rude to stare, you know? As her brother, I should be offended."  
"You want to duel me now?" He asked, crossing his arms. He smelled strongly of stale mead, but he was not slurring - so it was hard to judge how sober he was.  
"No, I can think of nicer ways to get maimed. I'll just issue a verbal warning."  
He began walking towards the door, gesturing me to follow him.  
"You Imperials and your chivalry."  
"Thank you, sir. I can't recall the last time I was accused of being chivalrous. She's practically a Nord, though."  
"She's not. Trust me on that. She may not be small and swarthy like you, but she's clearly an outlandish creature." As soon as we had reached the Cloud District's great porch, he smirked and leant against the rail. "It's not just her hair, either. It's the way she prances about like she owns the place, the way her hips sway like they're daring you not to stare at her..." He sighed, and I wondered how much ale it would've taken for him to open up like that. "No Nord woman does that. No Falkreath milkmaid can turn a blushing giggle into a defiance."  
"So we are finally done faking anger," I stated, and for a second, considered running away before any mace landed on my head. Instead, he chuckled.  
"Well, you are her brother now, aren't you? I can't  criticise her in front of you and expect not to run to her with the tale."  
Ah, of course.  
"Well, with the way you fought today, I'd say you have earned a few loyalty points." At least twice that morning, his opportune charges at Odaahving's claws had saved my life. "Just don't waste them."  
"Thanks. You weren't too bad either."  
"For a mage?"  
He laughed."Those runes were a good idea, and that new glass set may have saved her life."  
"I think a celebration is well-deserved for everyone. The whole town played its part on this."  
"We still need to interrogate that dragon, though. And then we have to face Alduin, wherever he is."  
"Ah, so you're coming with us?"  
"I wouldn't miss it for the world. Songs will be sung of this."  
Of course, he wants to be mentioned in the songs!  
"I'll make sure to tell her. But there will be time for that tomorrow."  
As Njada and Eorlund began climbing the stairs towards us, he immediately restored his unfriendly expected and stiffened his neck.  
"I'll see you around then, Marcurio."  
"Sure, Companion. I'll be happy for you, once you do, by the way." I retorted, almost within Njada's hearing, before he turned back into Dragonsreach.

* * *

  
If Vilkas was all about hiding his happiness, why was Sira struggling so hard to fake her smile?

Uninterested in women and oblivious to their charms as I've always been, it was hard for me to identify any sexual provocation in her walk... and yet, as she passed by the Gildergreen, there was indeed something bestial about the way she slid across the ground. Determined, yet graceful - as if about to leap on top of prey. _Draconic_.

When had this happened? We had spent months travelling together, so I had been unable to notice the subtle transformations in her demeanor - much like weight gain was hard to notice in your own reflection, if you made a habit of using a looking glass every day. When compared to the heavy-footed, half-blind, and sassy shield maiden I had met in Riften, the transformation was evident.

"Leaving the party so soon?" I asked  
"I've drunk too much."  
"So has the rest of the town."  
"Well, I just needed to clear my head a bit before I could continue. Wouldn't want to make an ass of myself in front of the whole city."  
"You think any of them would remember?"  
She laughed.  
"Boy, let's hope not. We would all have to move to other holds to live with that shame!"  
"Well, I suppose tomorrow we can always interrupt their hangovers with some Shouting, while you talk to your new pet."  
"Ugh. Might take a while for my head to clear enough for that. And to regain his respect, after everything he must be witnessing. We must be looking quite deserving of oppression, from his point of view."  
"I won't even try to interpret a dragon's mind, my dear. I'd rather just enjoy the wildest party of our lives. We can deal with the embarrassment tomorrow."  
"The important thing is, there will be a tomorrow." She stated, oddly switching her demeanor to a grave and somber one.  
"Ahh, please tell me you're not one of those feelsy drunks?"  
She turned around to face me, her eyes throbbing with contained energy. In the dark, it was hard to see their colour, but I bet they were red.

Suddenly, she hugged me tightly.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?"  
"Just... promise me you won't hate me."  
"What? Why? What did you do this time?"  
She seemed to take forever to answer that, trying hard not to cry.  
"Vilkas."  
"You did _Vilkas_?" Way to be delicate about it. "Already?"  
"What do you mean already?"  
"I mean... I've known it was going to happen for a while, but... why would I hate you over it?"  
"I know you fancy him."  
"Mate, you're smashed." And a feelsy drunk, by the looks of it.  
"Aye. Just not enough to deal with it."Back in the wild days where I would sneak out to the Praetor's Cornerclub, I'd done plenty of... interesting things that I'm not proud of.  And, I'm ashamed to say, at least half of it I was too intoxicated to remember.

* * *

 

Back in the wild days where I would sneak out to the Praetor's Cornerclub, I'd done plenty of... interesting things that I'm not proud of.  And, I'm ashamed to say, at least half of it I was too intoxicated to remember. No wonder my parents had felt justified in banishing me - even if they never knew and were acting on prejudice. Truth is, at some point of my late teens I had been set on becoming whatever degenerate stereotype Imperials apply to all men who love men, if only to shame the long line of ladies my family wanted me to court.Further truth is, even my most hedonistic moments were no worse

Further truth is, even my most hedonistic moments were no worse that what most young men of high-standing families do in the Imperial City's luxury brothels, only they get a free pass because it would be done to women. At least I had never had to pay for it, or worse, coerce or charm young ladies into it, as some of the "adept illusionists" were known to do in the Arcane University.That was all in the past, though. In Skyrim, I had become a respectable mercenary - I mean, hireling - who dined with Jarls and counted esteemed warriors as friends.  I was

That was all in the past, though. In Skyrim, I had become a respectable mercenary - I mean, hireling - who dined with Jarls and counted esteemed warriors as friends.  I was brother to a hero, and some day would marry and adopt children without being subject to slurs or humiliation. And I was rich - fabulously so, and not just for the standards of a backwards, rural province.

And yet, at some point of the party, I had felt the odd vibrations that told me that something was about to break. I was drunk, of course, and enjoying Farengar's attentions too much, so I ignored it. By the time I woke up next to him, in his chambers, it was close to noon, and drunkards were passed out everywhere around the hall - but others kept drinking. Whether they had just kept going or were resuming the party after a short nap, I could not say.

Torvar was always fond of the "hair of the dog", so when I found him swimming in the fountain below Dragonsreach, I was sure he was on his third round. After finding something to eat, I made my way back to Jorrvaskr for some potions and a more comfortable nap - most Nords in the city may have been set on awaiting the end of the world completely out of their minds, but Sira was counting on my to help her stop it.

In a couple of days, maybe, after my head stopped hurting. In the mean time, I had to intersperse my naps with some plain bread, fruit, lots of herbal teas, and some resist poison potions.

Muffled steps woke me from my comfortable corner by the fire.

_I should've taught her a proper muffle spell._

It was late at night again, and the noise from the parties had quieted down at last. And for some reason, Sira was trying to sneak out with a big pack behind her. If she had not been fully-armored, she would've succeeded.  For a second, I feared she was just skipping town and the responsibilities of her quest with it. As soon as she turned for the Clouds District, however, I realized what she was doing.

I followed her all the way to the Great Porch, only to watch her pull the lever that would release the dragon. I struggled to be hurt and to feel betrayed - but let's face it, I was relieved. She would do this on her own, as was her destiny, and I would get to live.

 _If_ she succeeded.

If she was doing this on her own, surely she was certain she would succeed?

"Why, Sira? Just tell me - you could've shared your plans with me."  
I startled her enough that she almost dropped one of her swords.  
"Marcus? I swear, I can explain..."  
"Again."  
"He will only take _me_!"  
"He might be planning to drop you from a cliff!"  
"There is no other way. I can only reach Skuldafn by air... if you had known, would you have just let me go on my own?"  
"Skuldafn? Is that were Alduin supposedly waits for you?"  
"No... not really. That's just the gate to the plane of Mundus where he waits for me."  
"Which is..."  
"Sovengarde."  
The Nordic afterlife.  
She took a deep gulp before continuing. "Would you have let me go on my own if I had told you from the start?"  
"Sira, no. There must be another way!"

The now free dragon behind her rumbled something incomprehensible.  
"He feeds off the souls of the dead. He regains strength by the hour."  
"So this is it, then? This is farewell?"  
"Aye. Tomorrow, after they notice I've left... I left some papers in my desk. Letters for a bunch of people. A land deed to your name."  
"No, I can't..."

The dragon took a step towards the edge of the porch.  
"Odahviing grows impatient. I must go now."  
"I won't let you." I said, trying to sound confident. How would I stop her, exactly?  
"I'll shout you to the wall if you try to stop me." Heat began emanating from her, and I realised she was serious.  
She turned back and climbed on top of the creature, talking to it in the same incomprehensible rumble.  
"Don't take too long! I grow bored very easily, you know that!" I screamed.  
The dragon's reply shook the walls of the palace. Surely someone would wake up from it - but by the time I finished that thought, Sira and her dragon were little more than a silhouette against Masser.

* * *

I wanted to feel betrayed, but I didn't have the time. It took me a while to disentangle myself from some very angry Companions, who clearly thought I had been part of the deception. The letters on the Harbinger's desk had explained the entire ordeal, from the prophecy on Alduin's Wall (which Aela had been witness to) to a small, tattered book she claimed she had found right after her arrival in Skyrim. It also listed her will, which left keepsakes for the entire company, but most of her fortune to me.

I now had over 200,000 septims to my name, two destriers, several sets of legendary armour, a city manor in Solitude and  lakefront property in Falkreath. And no sister.  
From the sullen looks in Athis' face, it was clear that I no longer had a place as a guest in Jorrvaskr. Vilkas refused to touch the Shield of Ysgramor, now his as permanent Harbinger. His twisted frown could only be described as tearless weeping. Farkas didn't seem to understand why she'd had to escape like that - and Njada was making a poor job of explaining the implications of dragon riding and Sovengarde.

"But if it's a portal she's going through, she can just go back after she's done! We could've gone with her!"  
"You stupid ice-brain!" she countered. “When was the last time you spoke to someone who died?”

I left them to their grief and their disbelief and simply walked to the stables. The word had quickly spread about the Dragonborn's departure, and those who had awoken from their hangover already had turned to wailing in the streets or to seek atonement in front of the statue of Talos.

Linea, at least, seemed ignorant of everyone's impending doom, and made no fuss about me riding her. I let her lead me south, all the way to the Honningbrew crossroads.  
Where to go now? Nobody waited for me anywhere. I could simply head west to my new land and camp there - and send someone to pick up my new fortune from Jorrvaskr in a few days time, after it became clear that there would be a future.

When would that become clear? I gazed up east, towards the Throat of the World, and noticed 3 - no, 4...5 - dragons circling the mountain. Were they getting ready to attack?  
I rode east, hoping for a better view. More dragons seemed to be flying in that direction, not bothering to attack anyone on the way. Could they be waiting for orders from their new leader?

Dragons respected strength, Sira'd told me once. Could they be waiting to see if they had a new master? There was only one way to know. I spurred Linea towards High Hrothgar, determined to force the Graybeards to let me in.  
I found the gates to their monastery open. The esplanade that had hosted armies a few weeks ago was now slowly being filled by pilgrims. Some were praying for Talos to bless Sira's arm, some weeped for forgiveness, and some simply sat and waited.

As soon as one of the Graybeards saw me, he quietly led me inside and pointed towards their backyard. A few people had chosen to defy centuries of tradition and had simply stepped inside the monastery, making themselves at home while the monks meditated next to the gate that lead to Paarthurnax' lair. The deadly fogs that protected the way up were gone, and yet nobody was crossing the gate. I sat next to the gate and waited.

Four days passed, my trail rations running thin, by the time the dragons circling the peak seemed to land and began wailing - yet, not attacking. I pushed the gates open and ran up the cliff. Nobody followed, but they didn't try to stop me. Who would run towards a gathering of dozens of dragons, all shouting at the same time?

What were they even saying? I had no time to regret not getting Arngeir to come with me and translate. At the peak of the Throat of the World, leaning against a wall with ancient inscriptions in the Dragon Tongue, sat Sira with a vacant expression - alive, but covered in blood.

Atop the wall, Paarthurnax stood, seemingly talking to her.

"Marcus? Is that you?"  
"You made it! You... came back from Sovengarde! How... but are you hurt? We need to get out of here!"  
"It's fine, they won't attack."  
"Are you wounded?"  
"I don't think I am, no."  
"Come on, let's get out of here."  
She grimaced, and I realized talking was requiring a lot of effort on her part.  
"I can't."  
"Why not? Do you need food? Let me get some. And a blanket, divines, you must be freezing, and tired." And ghastly pale, I thought.  
"I... I am not cold. I can't feel the cold... Marcus, I'm so glad you're..."  
"What's wrong?"  
She seemed to shiver, and yet not to notice she was doing so. Droplets of ice rested on those formerly proud cheekbones of her. Frozen tears?  
"I wasn't supposed to come back from Sovengarde, Marcus. Nobody is."  
"But you're here now. Do you need potions?"  
"I can't feel my body."

**_End of Act III  
_ **


	43. Act 4, Chapter 1: The Victor's Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can someone truly ever come back from the land of the dead? And then just walk home and rejoin the world of the living?  
> Sira just saved the world from one threat, and she's been sent back to Nirn for a reason. Pity Tsun didn't bother to tell her about it.

# Act IV: There Will Come Soft Rains

> "Just remember that none of these boys is fighting for home, for the flag, for all that crap the politicians feed the public. They are fighting for each other, just for each other." ---Chris Hedges

> "There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter." --- Ernest Hemingway

* * *

Linea's pace was exasperatingly slow. After so many months cooped up indoors, slowly healing from the unnatural wounds I had acquired while in Sovngarde, you'd think I would have been able to enjoy the chirping of the birds and the lull of the nearby stream better, right?

At least, during the long wagon ride that brought me back from Winterhold to Falkreath, I had been able to sleep most of the way - and afterwards, I had been too busy basking in the warmth of Lake Ilinalta and the luxuries of my new manor to mind the boredom.

I could've remained holed up there forever, enjoying the satisfaction of a job well done - wasn't that what I had always wanted? - had it not been for the winged shadow that obscured my view of the alchemy tower one morning.

Oh, yes. The dragons were still there. Seeing as I had killed their prince, they seemed to be unwilling to defy me or attack my home, but they ocassionally still terrorized the rest of Skyrim. I could smell the burning wood from my bedroom window some mornings - and I had managed to convince myself that it was always caused by dragons.

If I didn't do anything about those remaining, feral dragons, pretty soon people would realise that something had happened to their Dragonborn - or worse, think her useless and lose their due deference towards her. I couldn't allow that, right?

Once again, I managed to convince myself that was the only reason why, one cool Last Seed evening (or was is First Seed once again? Where had winter gone?), I dragged myself to Lakeview Manor's dining hall and told Marcurio that I was coming back to Jorrvaskr the next morning. He had grown increasingly morose ever since we had left Winterhold - he missed Onmund, but somehow felt obliged to come with me and make sure I stayed alive - but the relief on his face was quickly gone once he saw I was serious. He begged me to wait a couple of days while "arrangements were made".

The horses were fed and saddled, and I was covered in thick, rich furs and ornate clothes meant to hide my now insignificant figure rather than to protect me from the rain. We were less than half a day's ride from Whiterun, but our slow and overly cautious pace had taken us only to Riverwood by lunch time.

This would not do.

The town was full of familiar faces, which only made it worse. Everyone there remembered the fierce refugee who had escaped Helgen, the wild adventurer who slayed dragons across the province, and the proud Harbinger who haggled with the shrewdness of a banker's daughter. Everyone was glad to see me and quick to wish me luck or to thank me for their lives - nobody was dumb enough to comment on the way I looked, for I could still Shout them to death - but I could feel the pity burning holes in my back.

_She faced Akatosh's eldest son, she saw Sovngarde, she tempted the Daedra and disobeyed the Aedra by coming back - and now she can barely move. An emaciated shadow of what she once was. Gaunt, pale, slow, weak._

No wonder Vilkas had stopped writing six weeks ago. Whatever adrenaline-fueled madness drove us to the same bed was now... ready to be forgotten. After all, nobody else ever knew - good thing I managed to keep it a secret! - and it was never meant to be more than a one night thing.

During the initial, blurry days at Winterhold - where I spent most of my days under the strict supervision of Colette and Tolfdir, who were patiently trying to restore my soul back to the mortal plane - I would often wake up from a days-long nap to find a new bundle of pages from him. Most of them were full of matter-of-fact recollections and descriptions - he wanted me to be up-to-date on all the comings and going at home, he said - rather than personal messages or plans about the future. Here and there, he would include a gentle nudge for my prompt recovery, and remind me of how much everyone missed me - Merciless Mara, he couldn´t bring himself to say he missed me? Was the time spent together not worth that little white lie?

As my spirit reconnected to my limbs and I began walking around the College halls again, a steady trickle of close friends began to visit Winterhold.

They would bring news, gifts, fruit from the south, and sit with me by the fire pretending I was just on a short vacation or actually studying magic - and they all came, even Vignar, all but Vilkas. At first, I was too embarrassed to ask, then it became painful. The only one to volunteer an excuse for his absence was Farkas, who, after “getting lost during a hunt” with Erik, hinted that all three of them together would’ve attracted too much attention. I was so busy trying to pretend it didn’t mattered that it took me two days to realise that my location had been kept secret all this time.

At least nobody could say the Treaty of High Hrothgar had not changed anything: I was still on the Thalmor’s hit list, and clearly there to stay. Turns out you can’t spend a week in the same building as Elenwen and expect her not to recognise the spy who had infiltrated one of her fanciest parties, killed a dozen of her agents and stashed away a bundle of top secret documents. The Thalmor were not so stupid as to acknowledge it while surrounded by two armies, but as soon as the world didn’t end, the truce broke, and rumours started circulating about my survival, that they dropped all pretences.

Thalmor patrols had been stationed near every road in and out of Whiterun for a month. My housecarl Lydia vanished overnight (not like she could’ve given then any information, for the amount of time we had spent together). Sigrid and Alvor’s home was searched, their furniture broken, while the town had been busy with a planting festival - but maybe that was Gerdur’s work. Klimmek’s Inn in Ivarstead had been occupied, but that was of no concern to me. Athis and Vilkas were attacked by justiciars on their way to a contract in the Reach, so Marcurio chose to buy a new home in Riften via an agent, and signed the papers himself. When Eorlund Gray Mane received his son’s ear in a box, the gentle nudges in Vilkas’ letters became more insistent:

“ _Everyone tells me you are trying and training,_ ” he wrote, after excusing himself for not visiting “ _but I bet you are just lazying around, playing with magic, and not regaining your physical strength._ ” 

By then, I was spending four hours a day practicing anything that didn’t require me to move, especially destruction and restoration spells, and I had begun feeling cold and warmth again. Most mornings, I still needed someone to help me out of bed - it took me an eternity and a superhuman amount of strength to get my body to move.

I was trapped inside my mortal skeleton, but my letters only mentioned clam chowder and reading. I knew everyone else had told him the truth, but I couldn´t write about it. The idea of putting that on paper, I am beaten and sick and weak, instantly zapped what little willpower I had left. He would have to come and see it himself.

Dawnstar returned to Imperial hands and back again. Winterhold changed hands as well, a quick siege I watched from the top of a tower. Eventually, Tolfdir decided that he had done all he could for me, and that only time and constant practice would allow me to return to life completely. Colette recommended exercise and fresh air, somewhere warmer where being outdoors was possible. Ancano suddenly returned to the College, causing Marcurio to leave abruptly on some inane fetch quest meant to throw him off, and I rode a cart to Falkreath on my own.

The privacy afforded by Lake Ilinalta allowed me to pace endlessly around the edges of my new property, slowly relearning how the grass felt under my bare feet and the correct way to hold a sword´s hilt. Lifting a sword was a different matter altogether: muscle wastes away if you spend months in bed, even more so if you are not eating right, and I would only eat when reminded to. Eventually, the outright pain of moving my fingers gave way to a mild numbness and slowness - but I was ready to face the world as an overly spoilt adult again. One that doesn´t need to lift her own food or defend herself.

Hundreds of bandits killed, dozens of dragons slain... and I was finally the delicate noblewoman I had always wanted to be. _How dull._

By the time Pellagius farm was in sight, my thighs were sore from riding and my stomach was turned inside out from uncertainty. I had set out determined to let Vilkas scoff and judge me in exchange for training - I was ready to demand it, and to remind him that I had just saved the world. I stiffened my neck and pursed my lips as I approached the spot where I had heard of the Companions for the first time. I was not ready to find Aela waiting for me. 

“The Dragonborn comes home” she said, with a smirk.

“It is still my home, is it not?”

“Last I checked, nobody has proclaimed otherwise. You are still the Harbinger. I’m sorry if I am not the welcome committee you expected, though.”

I snickered. “Believe or not” I replied, “I intended to act completely surprised at the cheers of the smallfolk.”

At last, her laughter came out sincere. “Still good old Sira, then?”

“Still not old, too!”

I wish I could say that was the second in which we both looked at each other and chose to leave the past behind, and went back to trusting each other with our lives. It would’ve been nice.

Instead, I let the banter die out, looking at the road ahead. Whiterun’s newly rebuilt gates were fastly approaching. I suppose I expected a certain degree of solemnity upon my entrance, having saved the world and all, but maybe finding Proventus Avenicci right behind the gate, escorted by five guards, Nazeem, and Irileth, was a bit too much.

“Apologies for the _modest_ welcome, Harbinger. On behalf of Jarl Balgruuf, I would like to assure you that we are enourmously joyful” Irileth seemed to be struggling not to laugh” to welcome back _our Dragonborn_ to his city and hold. Had we had more time to prepare…”

“Right, of course. It’s good to be home.”

At that point, I should’ve simply extended a hand, as if I assumed it was my place to be helped off Linea, but the thought came three seconds too late. Instead, a long minute passed while I fumbled with the harnesses and my limbs. It was damn hard to ignore the awkward smiles and the faint buzz of whispers that began to form.

Sunset was approaching quickly, I was tired beyond measure - It had been, what, eight months since the last time I had spent an entire day outdoors? - and I could feel the edges of my face freezing into an absent grin. At least, most of the smiles around me seemed friendly. I shook hands with every guard and even hugged Amren’s wife, but the familiar scent of corundrum, leather, and juniper seemed to be hiding in Jorrvaskr, unbothered with my arrival.

So be it. With one deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped into the mead hall.


End file.
